A Thousand Screams in the Dark
by StoryBookGhoolies
Summary: Hi, Esther here, I'm new to moving and to be honest, I don't even know why we moved here. My parents seem to be hiding something and I'd love to know what, but I'm not the worlds best eavesdropper. Or the best looker, or the most clever. In fact, I'm pretty boring; maybe I can flourish now? Phft, fat chance. But when life finally starts to get normal...Everything goes to shit.
1. Moving to the Vale

**Disclaimer: I don't own Demonata, Darren Shan does. But I do own any OCs or non-cannon creatures that will appear in this fic. And trust me; I have a LOT of non-cannon creatures.**

**A/N: Yo, it's the Ghoolies here! After my long abstinence I have returned with a Demonata fic. I've loved this series since I was about 12 and was re-reading it a couple of months back and decided to write a fanfiction based off it. Originally it was going to be about one of my other OC's, Amy Moore, but I realised Amy's story is going to take a long time to write and complete, so I started off with a new OC-Esther Blake. Follow her story, and this will be more than a two shot. It may have some Grubbs/OC later if I can get round to writing the romance but for now, I just want you to get to know Esther as a person. R&R please, because I always want help on how to improve!**

At first I thought mum was joking when she told me. My mum isn't one for humour but I thought she was having a go for once, and I was horribly mistaken.

She told me we were going to be moving house; and for once it was dad's decision, not hers, which really blew my mind away. Mum always makes the decisions for the rest of us, and I've learnt that shutting up and putting up with it works best-resistance is futile as they say. Especially to my mother when she's decided something is going to happen. Apparently dad wanted to move to somewhere more remote, more picturesque, so his artwork can improve; and for once mum was happy with some change, even though she'd be working for a much smaller company, with a lower pay.

My mum is a lawyer by profession, Serena Blake; my dad's the artist Michael Blake. Y'know? The guy who did the picture of the sort of floating apples in the sea and the sky? His only famous painting in his entire career, and that was when I was two years old, and mum was starting at her first official law firm. He tells us that he's working on his next masterpiece but this 'masterpiece' has taken twelve years. I'm fourteen now, and all his other paintings haven't gotten the same response as the weird apples. My name is Esther, it's supposed to mean 'friendly, approachable and generous', I am one of these three traits, the final one. I am not friendly by any means and no-one approaches me because I'm silent almost all 6 hours of school time. To be honest, I have no friends whatsoever. I hope you could call me generous but I'm not too sure about that one either, because no-one ever asks me for anything. But I try to be generous, I guess. And once I've done that, I can complete the others.

People find me 'too clever' and 'too weird' to be friends with. And I can't wear makeup so I'm not even viewed as pretty. I'm allergic to makeup.

I've got one of those faces people say is beautiful, if you take the time to look at it, like if you looked at it for about a minute you'd apparently see the beauty that's hidden there, but no-one does because I look plain. I am painfully pale, which is not my fault, it's my mother's.

My mother, who was born Serena Tolnay, is Danish, from Copenhagen the capital, and she's almost typically European. Y'know? The type of European people from America and other countries imagine everyone who isn't in the UK is like? Tall, extremely blonde haired, nice figure, pale skinned (_'well she is Scandinavian!'_) and a really thick accent? That's my mum in a nutshell, only her accent is very English because she's lived here since she was twelve.

And my dad is pale too, so I came out white as a ghost. A sort of milky white, and I don't tan, I only burn. I've got a couple of freckles on my arms, nose and cheeks but they're also light brown, and only stand out properly in summer when the heat makes them more noticeable. But I'm so plain why stare at my freckly arms when you can't be bothered to state at my could-be-beautiful face?

The only features of mine that people might find interesting are my hair and eyes. I got my dad's eyes, and they stick out like a sour thumb because I mainly took after my mum in the looks department. My eyes are strikingly dark blue; a sort of midnight sky style in shade, and they're like crows eyes amongst my pale skin. They're dark, beady and glitter with a kind of bird-like intelligence. My eyes make me appear untrustworthy and almost frightening, a bit like a crows eyes.

As for my hair, it's a sort of pale blonde, a deep clash with my crow-sharp indigo eyes, but nowhere near as light as my mum's almost platinum shade, which I still wish I could have. I've grown it long (hey, it hides my plain face!) and it's wavy and wispy. I tried curling it once but the first time it got toasted so it ended up like straw, and when it did properly curl, the process took me about three and a half hours. For one side. So I gave up and washed it, returning it to its usual waves. Like I said, resistance is futile, and so far in life that motto has worked just fine for me.

And so my lack of resistance landed me in the back of my car, following a removal van, to a place in Ireland called Carcery Vale. That didn't make sense to me. I've lived in Newcastle my entire life, so why did we suddenly move to Ireland? I thought it'd be somewhere like Manchester or York, but Ireland? Although the place is beautiful (judging by pictures I've seen) so I agreed to come with mother and father, and my little sister, to live here. Oh yes, they gave me the alternate option of going to live with my cousins in Middlesbrough, shows how much they _want _to keep me, right? As for the little sister part, yep-I have one. But she's four years old, a whole ten years younger than me, and named Evie. She can be cute as a mouse wrapped in cotton wool or annoying as techno music, so I usually try and keep away from her.

Our car lacks air-con so I have to role the windows down and_ pray_ a wasp/bee won't get in. Sometimes my prayers are actually answered. Evie is talking about some nonsensical Cbeebies show I don't understand so I sit there and stare outside. For the entire freaking journey. Sheep, cows, tree after tree and the occasional shock of thinking I've just seen something in the forest is only fun for about…ten minutes? I play with the hem of my skirt, untie my hair from its ponytail to re-tie it, yawn constantly, and stare at the ceiling. Anything but-

"Does anyone want any music?" dad asks from the driver's seat. _Oh no…No! No, no, no, no, NO-  
_

"Please!" Evie squeals. It is official, I'm in hell. Evie ruined my CDs by 'accidentally' snapping them in half (_accidentally my arse_), so now I have a choice between Slovakian disco music which only mum and me understand (she taught me to speak Slovakian as a way of 'bonding'), dad's old 70's/80's rock (which is tolerable I guess) or Evie's nursery rhymes or stupid pop (ear sodomy). I sink down further in my seat and wallow in despair as whatever stupid idiot begins to sing 'One Two, Buckle My Shoe'. The look on my face is a perfect example of how I am feeling. Tortured, I'd rather try waterboarding that listen to this whimsical awfulness.

Over the sound of the 'music' (it's a loose termology for this crap), mum calls to me. "Oh Esther, I've already enrolled you at their local secondary school, you start on Thursday the 20th."

Even better. Today is Monday the 10th, I have over an entire week of nothing to do! Stupid as it sounds, I'd _rather _be in school than at home. Watching daytime TV and mulling around is only fun for about three days, soon you get bored. School, as horrid as it can be, is a way of letting me get to know people. At home, I can simply wallow in my loneliness and boredom with _Evie_ as my only companion. Sure, she's cute as a sugar mouse dipped in treacle tar and artificial sugaring, but she's annoying when she's excited. And _boy_ is my little sister excited! I sigh and bury my face into my hands, wishing I could be in school right now.

Judging by the fact both my parents already have jobs set up for them, I'll be looking after Evie for most of the day. But I suppose I'm responsible enough to have her care entrusted in me. Mum has to start work immediately just in case someone else tried to get in an important job promised for her; and dad will probably want to get a good idea of his surroundings. I know we're not _actually_ living in the Vale itself, more on the outskirts so we're 'closer to nature' or some bullshit like that. But I will agree with my dad on one thing, Carcery Vale sure is beautiful. In its own natural sort of way.

Filled with beautiful, luscious greenery; cool blue skies, and lack of…Modern technology. At least the part where we're living now.

There is at least one other house all the way on the outskirts of Carcery Vale; a mansion owned by a man named Dervish Grady. Apparently my mother knew him 'back in the old days', they attended the same college. He has a nephew, an orphan, but I don't know his name; apart from that I know nothing about Dervish Grady. I have suspicions that my mum and he used to date, and that the relationship ended messily, because she doesn't always speak too kindly of him. But she says we must go and visit him, so maybe the possible relationship didn't end too messily.

I've seen a couple of photos of my mum when she was a teenager in the 1970's, and she looked even more stunning than she somehow manages to now. None of the few wrinkles she now has, hair like a Disney princess, perfect figure because she'd had no kids, I can see why my dad loves her so much.

Part of me hopes I could grow up to be like my mother; blonde, Barbie-like, and stunning. Judging by the way I'm going though, I'm going to be more like one of Barbie's backgrounds friends, but not as plasticised or perky, I'll just sit in the background and be stuck with my Barbie friend. So far I haven't even got a Barbie friend though, so I'm pretty sure nothing is going to go well in my life. I don't get how my mum gets to be both gorgeous and have a high IQ, whilst I only get the high IQ, but some of us are luckier than others I guess.

Judging by the way our lives are going, Evie is going to be the pretty sister. Unlike me, Evie suits being pale, it makes her look like a child Snow White. Little button nose (cute right?), doey eyes that are blue like the sky, and raven bunches. Evie got our dad's black hair, so it contrasts beautifully with her eyes, and makes her look twice as adorable. If I looked like that, I'd be seen as creepier than people think I am now. My skin's too pale for dark hair, and if I had it I'd look like a corpse, and light blue eyes would pop out my face-in a _very_ unattractive way.

Life's a bitch ain't it, and I'm already wishing I was in school, so I could be socially awkward properly around other teenagers.

The car stops, and I hear mum and dad get out. A pleased smile on her soft face and my dad looks ecstatic. Like a little boy with a new Action Man figure or something. I can see them whispering to each other, but I'm not in the mood for eavesdropping on my parents. Until I see mum put her hand over her stomach, in a way all too familiar. She's pregnant, _again_. Having horny parents-not cool. Especially seeing that I'm fourteen years old, and I'm going to get another sibling. I probably wouldn't mind if my siblings were closer to my age, instead of being a full ten and now fourteen years younger than me. By the time my upcoming sibling is my age; I'll be twenty eight years old, hopefully married with kids of my own.

To take my mind of the latest bout of bad news I find myself receiving I decide to look at my new home, and, much to my annoyance, I am impressed. It looked like it was pretty old, and was made out of solid white wood which I was shocked wasn't rotting yet, like so many houses eventually end up doing. At least three stories high, with a front porch and a hanging swing; large double doors which I guessed were supposed to be the back doors but my parents had decided this would be the front part because it faced the driveway. The garden seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. I had no clue where it stopped and the endless fields surrounding our new house started. It was mostly untrimmed, like a thick jungle, but I liked it that way. Imperfections are what make you special, that's what my Grandmother Tolnay used to tell us. Yes, I can feel myself smiling for once in my life; _I think I'm going to like it here_.


	2. Lakes of Blood and Worries about Myself

**Disclaimer: You know the drill! I don't own Demonata, Darren Shan does. But I do own any OCs or non-cannon creatures that will appear in this fic. And trust me; I have a LOT of non-cannon creatures.**

**A/N: So, here is Chapter 2 of my fanfic. Wow things are going well, I feel so excited about this fanfic and I think it's going to go somewhere! Still not sure if there will be any romance between Esther and Grubbs yet but I'll see, at the moment I seem to be shipping him with Bo Kooniart, the girl he met on the set of 'Slawter' who was a bitch but she turned nice. Just the way that in Hells Heroes he seems genuinely upset he couldn't rescue her, and felt like he failed her, so I might put them together in this fic! Esther won't mind, I'm sure I can find her someone tall and strapping (*wink wink*), and at the moment she only seems to feel friendship towards Grubbs in my mind, so it's her call. Not mine. This is the first of two fics I'm posting today. I've been ill and have lots of free time to write so there'll be more constant updates. And if you haven't guessed, I don't like Grubbs/Reni too much. Reni's character just pisses me off to an extent I can't explain, so there will be none of that couple in this fic, thank you very much. R&R please! Constructive criticism is always welcome.**

I was swimming, which was the first thing that struck me as odd. I never swim, not even in my dreams; but here I was. It's not like I can't swim, I just don't like water too much; I didn't almost drown when I was a child or something dramatic like that, water just…Doesn't fit well with me. But I know that even subconsciously we never have control over our dreams, dreams choose us, not the other way round. It's up to them whether we'll have the sweetest daydream of faraway castles, princes and pegasi dancing in the sky like planes; or nightmares-your worst fears coming into picture, haunting you, driving you about a quarter crazy before letting you return to sanity. And for some reason, the nightmares like me.

My arms outstretched in front of me gracefully, as I swam like a fish, totally at ease in the water. My blonde hair paler than ever in the moonlight, sits carefully on top of the water as I swim along. My eyelids fluttering occasionally as I blink, occasionally staring up at the moon. It looks like a giant, shining marble in the sky. My dream sky is even darker than my sharp, midnight blue, crow eyes; and little stars sparkle at me, like their winking. I smile briefly, but it soon fades, as I realise I'm totally alone. My nightmares seem to love making me stay alone; because I always have been, and I suppose I always will be. They barely let me indulge in being chased by fearsome monsters or stalked by calculating serial killers. I didn't hate any of them. It wasn't their fault. Monsters are made, not born; and killers are simply people who can't be understood. I wish I could know an actual killer, stupid as it sounds. I'd love to see why they kill, what makes them think it's right, see if I could help them. I'd love to be able to help people, but no-one lets me get close enough to try.

Embarrassing as it is, I know I'm naked. I can feel the water slipping around my bare skin, acting like an old, silken blanket, keeping me warm. And I know why I'm swimming, _who_ I am swimming to. A young woman, sitting on the edge of the lake, dipping her toes occasionally, smiling peacefully as she strokes a bizarre creature sitting next to her. It looks like a cat, only its fur is a light blue shade with white stripes, glittering reddy-brown eyes watching its own reflection, only it has a long, barbed scorpions tale and a long, pinkish, giraffe like long darts out of its lips occasionally. But I'm not afraid, I know it's a dream, and the woman is smiling at me kindly. She won't sick her scorpion-cat on me. "Come to me, my dear," she calls, her voice like fur stroking my skin, making me calm. It's accented in extremely thick English, like those you see on TV shows about Britain in the Middle Ages. "Let me look at you; study your features. Let me take _all_ of you in."

The closer I get, the more I can view her features, the more I can study who she is. She looks about twenty-one, only seven years older than me, and her hand is outstretched towards me. Her figure is tall, she peaks seven foot she is so tall, with a slender waist and small, plum-like breasts clothed in a long, ornate, cream gown. It has a slit up the left hand side, exposing her snow-white skin. Her face is perfect, soft, features delicate like someone had sculpted her not given birth to her; not a single feature looked misshapen or imperfect on her; her nose was a perfect size, not to big nor too small, it didn't stick out but didn't look squashed; her eyes also, the shape wasn't too slanted in either direction; and her lips were rose-petal like, the nearest to 'rose-petal' I've ever seen. Pure golden eyes that almost shone in the dark atmosphere. Long, curled, blonde hair the colour of lemons that peaks her thighs. Her rose petal lips are fashioned into an easy, beautiful smile as she beckons me forwards with her index finger; as I continue my journey through the warm water.

_Warm_. The water is naturally warm. And it looks black in the night, flashing _blood red_ when the moonlight hits it. That's because it is blood. I'm swimming it a lake of blood, the red goo coating my skin; I stare at the ends of my hair and my skin as I draw to a hault in the water. They're tinged red, small rivulets of blood dripping off them like little tears. I shiver violently, my eyes going wide with shock and horror; my stomach churns, I feel bile rising upwards from it. I open my mouth so quickly splashes of blood seep inside and I began gurgling. The sweet, coppery taste is foul in my mouth and I desperately spit it out, praying the taste will be gone. I scream, in a pitch I didn't think I could ever reach it's so high. My voice echoes off the empty lake, and the beautiful woman laughs maliciously, cruelly. I look up at her face, her eyes shining in a violent and threatening sheen, like this being was planning on doing something malevolent or that would cause bloodshed. "My dear, this is the first of much blood that is to be spilled." She calls in her soothing voice which drowns out my screams. "So much more is to come, my Esther, so much."

The scorpion-cat spits at me, its little eyes narrowed into almost reptilian slits. My brain fights back all the questions I want to ask. Number One being how she knows my name. How does the strange, beautiful, impish creature know my name? But she's no imp, I can see that now. Large, pulsating, black veins going down her beautiful face from her shining eyes and there were more around her wrists, as she beckons me forwards. More on her legs, starting from her upper thighs, maybe even her waist. Her nails grow in length like that of hawks, and her teeth seem to sharpen as she giggles like an insane child. "Don't be afraid Esther, your powers are growing! Trust me!"

"Who are you?" I finally scream back, after what seems like an eternity of silence. "How do you know who I am? _What_ are you?" My voice comes out desperate, short, pleading. I must have these answers which I seek so desperately. Her laughter is cut short, her facial features creased in wonder, like no-one has ever had the gall to ask her whom she is. But the Oscar winning smile reemerges just as fast, as she cocks her head to the side with a curious shine in her eyes.

"You can call me Lord Daire. I am one of children. The only female Demon Lord of my kind, a rare beauty among the Demonata. And you interest me, Esther, so very much. You have hidden prospects no-one could have foreseen, and I have simply come to unlock your talents because you cannot do it naturally. Now come to me, Esther, _come to me_."

But my head is spinning as the world begins to spin, the nightmare world as I know it. My eyelids close as I fight to keep them open; Lord Daire is screaming something incoherently as the scorpion-cat hisses and squeals in panic. Neither of the two dare jump into the lake of blood to grab me, as if they cannot swim or the blood will have a chemical reaction of the acidic kind. It's not like I'm drowning though, it's like the lake is turning into a giant toilet, flushing me down. I'm swept around like in the middle of a hurricane, my arms feebly clawing at the air but I'm so worn out even the effort of holding my arms upwards seems to hurt. Blood splashes all over me and I have the sense to close my mouth, avoiding a repeat of earlier. The blood covers me like a blanket, protecting me from the sights of Lord Daire and her scorpion-cat familiar. She's still screaming up above, in a language I've never heard of before. It's the weirdest language I could ever dream up, but more squeals, snarls, snuffles, grunts, groans, roars, wails reply and I realize she's calling upon more of her clan of misshapen monsters to dig me out of the water. But she knows she's too late, I can sense the disappointment, the anguish, the annoyance in her tone. She played her cards far too late, letting me slip away into the bloody sink hole of this lake, this lake of blood.

Only then do I realize I'm going to drown. I'm no fish girl, I have no gills, and I cannot swim. But I don't drown; I don't get the chance to. An ethereal, green light that sticks out like a sore thumb in the darkness flashes in front of me and a being swims up to me, tail kicking out behind her. A mermaid. Short, tightly curled, chestnut brown hair swinging in the blood; tanned skin, her chest covered with green silk, matching her emerald tale. It glitters in the pearly moonlight and she grabs my shoulders, as I stare into her burning green eyes. She shakes me, her eyes wide with desperation. "WAKE UP!" She screams, her accent Irish and thick. "WAKE UP ESTHER! YOU MUST WAKE UP!" And I do…

* * *

I'm soaked in sweat when I fly forwards; bolt upright in my bed, and shivering violently. My Mickey Mouse night shirt drenched in sweat, cold sweat. I feel frozen like a penguin in the Antarctic's winter, and my hands fly up to my face as I lean all my weight on my knees, burying myself forwards into my shaking knees. To my own surprise I didn't scream, like I originally thought I would have. Dad's a light sleeper and would have come running if I had.

Still shaking like a leaf in the January wind, I tell myself to stop being so stupid. I stare at my bedside clock, 4:12 AM glows back at me in neon red light. In about four hours I'll be starting school, and I blame that on my violent nightmare. Usually when I'm going to a new place my nightmare's get worse and worse, even if it's a simple holiday to somewhere I've never been before, my nightmares are brutal, showing no mercy. I take an extremely deep breath and make an attempt at pulling myself together, and then it hits me, right in the middle of the forehead. Making friends will be twice as hard now when I start. Who would want to be friends with a crow-eyed girl who has violent nightmares? It doesn't help that mum has arranged for me to go with her to see her friend Dervish Grady tonight, but I'll block that out for now, and if today is too unbearable, I'll pull a sickie.

I can make myself ill if I try. If I get worried or nervous enough I can be physically sick or make myself get a fever somehow. I sigh pitifully and lean back against the pillows of my bed, my pale blond waves tied into two plats like I do each night. It saves me the agony of brushing in the mornings, my hair tangles easily, and I have to be careful. But even thinking of my hair, the only feature I am truly confident in, can't calm me. This nightmare was different; it was far too…_Real_ for my own liking. I could feel the blood around me, here Lord Daire's voice, feel the beautiful mermaid's grasp on my shoulders. Like it was real.

'_Maybe it was!'_, a niggle at the back of my mind teases cruelly. _Shut it_, I snap back at it, trying to ease my fears away, but they are refusing to be pushed under the carpet this easily. Everything is echoing around me, like crazy radar of terror. I sigh and massage my scalp, deciding to untie my hair and get dressed. Keeping myself is a good way to get my mind off the nightmares, it's a little technique Violet taught me. Violet was my only friend back in Britain. I met her whilst at Grandmother Tolnay's one day whilst I was on the beach. Grandmother Tolnay lived on the coast, in Scarborough, right next to a small beach in a grand, beautiful house painted blue. Violet Whittle lived down the road, in a house painted white that was a little bigger, with a beautiful garden full of roses and a large, Golden Retriever named Honey.

Violet was the youngest of four children. She had three older brothers; Edward, Christopher, and Henry. I never met any of them; they were all away at university. With a mother named Carietta, and a father named Mitchell. She was a frog among swans. Her mother was beautiful, American and she reminded me of Sissy Spacek; whose famous character in the 1976 film 'Carrie' she ironically shared a name with, only her hair was the colour of strawberries, naturally, not dyed. Her father was a big and bear-like, cuddly looking with a bushy beard the colour of wheat like his hair. And based on the photo's I saw, her brothers were attractive as well. Violet couldn't have been more different to her attractive family. She looked like the _novel_ Carrie White, the overweight, acne ridden, and awkward girl. She'd dressed plainly, even more than I did. Knee-length, pleated skirts; drab cardigans, and jumpers. Never patterned, never brightly colored, always dark. She made me look beautiful.

But I didn't befriend her for those reasons, I never did. Violet and I knew what it were like to be outsiders, so we naturally connected. I only saw her in the holidays, and now I strongly doubted I'd see her more than once a year and it annoyed me. I can't help but glare at the mirror, at myself, as I undo my plats, untying the black bobbles and letting my hair fall down over my face again. I pick up my hairbrush and began stroking it through my long hair, although it still bounces back in usual waves. No makeup, I'm allergic, like I said before, it could kill me if a certain type was used on me. The chemicals react with my skin in an extremely bad way, I come out with a rash and spots begin forming on my face, so I look more like Violet, who seems to have constant acne no-matter how much cream she uses to try and kill it. I will thank my parents for both being extremely clear skinned, because my face is smooth, but Violet wasn't so lucky. We must have looked so awkward wandering around the beach together; her like a ballooned whale, me like a wispy ghost.

Violet did have a few friends who lived in Scarborough, but they didn't know me too well. They were all male, the grand three of them, and two brothers and their friend who came to visit most weekends. I was probably too plain for them, they probably hoped Violet's 'friend from Newcastle' could have been beautiful and vivacious, but I was too awkward, plain and shy. Maybe if they'd looked at my face long enough they would have seen its so-called 'hidden beauty'; but like everyone else they never did. One of them had offered me the opportunity to have sex, I'm guessing he had problems, but I'd refused politely. Maybe he'd looked long enough at my face to see it's hidden attractiveness, but I still had a feeling he was just a horny teenage boy, only a year older than me.

Part of me, the part I've deemed insane or especially needy, still wonders if I should call him back. Violet had given me it on his request, and I still have it locked on my phone. Maybe I should tell him I'm ready now, I always view losing my virginity as something I want over and done with quick as possible. When the hymen breaks it'll hurt like a bitch, obviously; but I know I'll want to get it over and done with quickly. But maybe I need to find someone 'special' to lose it with. Not just some boy who Violet's friends with in Scarborough, even a loner like me won't stoop that low, I hope. After briefly massaging my scalp for what seemed like the umpteenth time, I exit the bathroom, softly padding down the hallway, careful not to wake any of my other family members from their peaceful slumber.

Gently easing open my bedroom door, I slip back inside my room, shutting the door as quietly as I'd opened it and stare around my room. My new room. It was painted purple, a sort of Egyptian purple, and although mum didn't like it I'd stood my ground for once. Dream catchers littered the walls, but they clearly were a lying bunch of sons of bitches because they never worked, they never caught my cruel, twisted dreams. My bedspread was patterned with cats, the sort you see alongside witches. My chest of drawers sat in the corner like a large bare hibernating, and the carpet here too was comfortingly soft underneath my feet. I look back at the clock and read the time 4:58 AM, almost five. Small gaps of light are shining through the curtains like long, golden-white fingers stroking the atmosphere of my room. I yawn a little but tiredness hasn't set in yet, I still feel awake and maybe having a mug of coffee with my breakfast can get me through the day in one piece. I've fallen asleep in class before, but no-one did anything to me when I did. It'd take too much effort, and effort directed at Esther Blake is one bit of effort too much. That's why I've never been bullied.

I'm not one of those angsty, neurotic, bizarre, narcissistic people who say they wish they could be bullied rather than be ignored. Being ignored was better than the cruel sniggers, the cryptic smirks, or the snide giggles once they think your back is turned. I'd sit in the back seat of every class, keep my head down and do my work, be a good student. Teachers liked me, because I got good grades, but I had no friends. So I was a lonely child.

As I think about my lonely child hood, I venture towards the sleeping bear which is my dresser, and opened up my drawers, staring through my clothes. Picking through all of my clothing pieces, none of them particularly feminine or beautiful. I own four dresses in total. Two are simple, black and indigo, coming above the knee; one is black and a long, sort of like a vampire dress; the other is short and white, made out of linen, that sort of steampunk style. I own a couple of skirts, but I only use them when I feel in the mood for a skirt or it's a special occasion, the same with dresses. Most of my wardrobe consists of trousers, jeans and t-shirts. I have a few silken shirts which dad bought me for my birthday, and a lovely black leather jacket that doesn't make my arms look incredibly fat. My shoes mainly consist of converses, trainers and boots. I own a couple of wedge-heels but I have no actual heels, because my balance is shit.

After poking through my clothing for a while, I choose todays outfit for my first day of school. There's no uniform, which mum and dad were pleased about because it saves money, but I'm not pleased at all. My clothes aren't like the style most girls of my age wear. I'm not exactly a tomboy, but I'm not girly either, not by a long shot. I'm the in between, and with other girls of my age, the in between is hell. I don't fit in with the girly-girl in crowd with their vast amounts of make-up and hairspray over kill; or do I fit in with the short haircut, bovver booted tomboys. I've got long hair (like a girly-girl) but I don't style it like they do. I wear jeans and t-shirts mostly (like tomboys) but I still have feminine accessories and wear false-nails. I can try with boys but I don't play enough video games, or read enough comics, and I still act typically feminine in some situations. It'd take an extremely diverse boy or girl to want to be my friend. And they'd have to have even more diverse friends who'd also accept me. I did make a friend once or twice, but their friends couldn't accept me, and I'd get cut loose after a month or two. Usually less.

I sigh as I pull my night shirt over my head and drop it the floor, standing in my room in my underwear. I feel extremely sick, my stomach cramping and I take a deep gulp of air, trying to flush the sickness away. Pulling my clothes on, I stare at myself in the mirror and for once I feel a little less self-conscious. I'm wearing one of my skirts, which are few in number; the indigo, denim one that matches my eyes and makes them less piercing, plus it shows off my legs. Kidding! I hate my legs. Dark red t-shirt, with a penguin holding a gun on the front, cartoon style; the words 'Zombie Killa!' in white writing above the armed forces bird, printed across my chest area. I'm one for odd humor, me. My beloved, expensive, leather jacket on because I get cold easily and I've picked out my knee-high, black converses. Simple silver hoop earrings are I need. And my hair's down as usual, although I've scraped it back with a hairband so it's not in front of my eyes. No makeup, of course, but I still scrub my face with cleanser. It's 5:18 AM, and in exactly twelve minutes I can go downstairs for breakfast. Mum has to get up extra earlier so she's on time for the law firm, so she'll be up in about two-three minutes and won't be suspicious if I'm up after her. But if I was up before her, she'd ask questions, and she's very clever, so she'd ease the truth out of me.

My mother finds nightmares childish, so it's dad who I usually turn to if I have a particularly bad one. Mum never read me stories as a child, finding them useless, so it was dad who taught me all the fairytales and fables of mankind. My mother is all about fact; my father is all about fiction. Odd, but for some reason they work together, it's like their differences make them work. And especially regarding their views on religion; my mother is a strict catholic, and although I'm an agnostic, I don't mind when she goes to church or invites some of her religious friends, because she doesn't try and pressure me into believing in God and Jesus and the rest of that lot. My father on the other hand is an atheist, and definitely doesn't believe in gods of any kind, but he doesn't mind about my mother's choices either, and brushes off the subject of religion with a simple expression of his own views. So my parents are just fine together.

Another part of me hopes I can get married, although I have strong suspicions I'll never achieve that. Boys don't find me attractive or even interesting, so I doubt one would ever wish to marry me. But then again, I haven't expanded past secondary school yet. I'm sure there's much more diverse people out there somewhere, I just have to find them.


	3. The Vampoari in the Woods

**Disclaimer: I do not own Demonata, Darren Shan does. The only things I own here are Esther, her family and anyone who doesn't appear in the books. I also own the non-canon creatures that will feature in this fic, and one of them appears in this chapter. The description is a little brief, but more will be explained of this kind-I promise!**

One foot forward, one in front of the other, the other will swiftly swing round and in time my steps carry me forward as I make my way down the corridor. I get the odd glance from the occasional student but they mainly treat me like a piece of the furniture, or a ghost. An embodiment of invisible, non-existent air gliding her way through the atmosphere. And the ones who do give me a glance quickly look away as if I'm not worth their '_oh so precious_' time. Life's a bitch, right? I don't bump into people, I don't try and talk to people, I just ghost my way throughout the building, mindin' my own business like a good little girl.

Gently patting down my hair as I hurriedly walk, I root through my bag and check out my brand new shiny timetable. When I first arrived at the Vale's high school after a half-hour walk from my own house; it was a pleasant walk. The sun shone through the trees like it was kissing the very roots of the earth, and the leaves echoed a soft green hue that made me feel like I was walking through some faerie woodland. I'd decided that I'd let my dad drive me here and back in the winters or on particularly cold days, but when the weather was nice, walking would be pleasant for certain.

The school's receptionist had been the youngest receptionist I'd ever met; well for one who worked with adolescents. She must've been only about eight years older than me, only about twenty-two, and she'd been _far too_ pretty to be allowed to work with a load of horny teenage boys with their raging hormones! Nice slender figure; short, bouncy light brown curls about chin-length; cute, beady light green eyes and dressed in a simplistic light brown dress that matched her hair a little.

She'd been helpful, sweet and kindly, good skills for a receptionist to have if they're working with children as young as eleven. After handing me a timetable, she wished me a good day and I went on my way. I never got a name but I figured I eventually would; she worked at the school I was attending and so the name would eventually pop up somewhere. I'd seen several of the boys, some of my age, some older, hanging around the reception, staring adoringly at the pretty receptionist with obvious lust. I'd looked at them, smiled and shook my head a little, before carrying on my way to my first class.

First period is Music, so I'm not too fussed. I'm no singer, and I suck at all instruments except one-flute. My father, a painter, loves creativity and practically forced me to take up an instrument when I was peaking six. I'd chosen a flute, because my mum's friend used to play one and I'd loved the sound. I'm a flute pro according to my former teacher, Laney. I've done a few proper concerts, usually with my dad who plays the piano, but most secondary schools don't teach flute, so I knew it'd be likely that I'd have to look elsewhere for my musical hobby to continue.

It took me about four minutes to find my classroom and it was good I'd have arrived early, or I had the possibility of being late to my first class. The bell sounded harsh and shrilly, so I gently turned the handle and open the door slowly. The teacher was standing in the centre of the classroom; she was tall, with tanned skin and a whirl of curly, dark hair around her head. Loose fitting white pants and a cream sweater made her look almost ethereal in the lightness of the tinged yellow classroom walls. The desks were spread out, in single file-probably to stop students from talking and not paying attention. She turns around, almost slowly and smiles kindly at me, her face looking younger when she does that.

"You must be Esther," she says with a short, curt nod which I nod back at. "I'm Mrs Lyndholme, your music teacher." _Well no shit_, I think but don't say anything, that'd get me in trouble and unlike most, I don't want to achieve the 'badass' title on my first day. "Now, we have a spare seat next to the window, right over there," she gestures to the seat and I nod to confirm that I know where she's pointing. As Mrs Lyndholme is explaining that the class is currently looking at the 'Romantic Period' of music. She tells me my father rang in to tell her that I do flute and she says that she could arrange lessons for me; I thank her and take my seat in a ghost like way.

The class is still pretty much ignoring me; again, I only get the odd glance and although interest flickers on the rarest of occasions, no-one comes up to me when we're copying work from text books about the people who prospered in the time and what their most famous pieces were. One or two people look like they want to get up and talk to me, but the telling glance from their friends clearly states one message: 'Leave it, she isn't worth our precious time'.

Until the unthinkable happens: someone approaches me. And not your usual type of approaching person; the stereotypical person who approaches you on your first day is of your gender, with a pleasant smile, and an even more pleasant attitude and demeanour. They include you in their social life, invite you out with them, and all their friends will eventually come round to love you and you'll be accepted, have a happy, good life, bleuch. Sadly fairytale's like that don't exist yet, so I've always assumed I will never have that person approach me on my first day. And to add to my weird life, this person is not your typical type to approach the new girl on her first day.

He towered imposingly above me, built like a comic book superhero, but he looked like he was trying to seem less frightening. Obviously, freaking out the new kid-not cool. Messy hair, not quite red but not quite ginger, a nice mix if you ask me; although I'd look ugly with red hair. My pale skin would yet again make me look like an ill, flame-haired corpse. Freckled skin which I liked; being freckly myself, anyone with freckles was immediately in my good books.

My first crush had had freckles; he'd been slightly built, with tanned skin, blue eyes even deeper than mine and curly hair, but his freckles stood out and made him look incredibly cute and sweet. He'd lived across the street from us, and had been about two years older than me. I'd never picked up the courage to speak to him of course; I'd just silently admired him from my front garden. On the day we moved I planned to go over to his house and tell him how much genuine attraction I felt towards him, but I'd never picked up the courage. Our mothers were good friends though, and I prayed she'd invite them over to see our new home one holiday on a whim so I could possibly pluck up the courage to confess my attraction for him.

Shaking off my thoughts of old crushes; I look up at the superhero boy and swallow back any possible fears that are lurking beneath the surface. "Yes?" I say, my voice coming out in a mouse's' squeak but he luckily must have sharp hearing as the edges of his mouth tug a little, as if he wants to smile at me.

"Hi," he says a little stiffly. Unlike everyone else I'd met today, his accent wasn't Irish. He was British like me, and it felt incredibly reassuring that I wasn't 'that quiet British girl sitting at the back of the classroom'. "I'm Grubbs Grady, Dervish's nephew." So _this_ was the prestigious nephew of my mother's possible ex-boyfriend. He's…Interesting looking. He holds out his hand politely. "You must be…"

"Esther," I prompted. "Esther Blake, Serena's daughter." I look back at Mrs Lyndholme suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be getting on with your work?"

"Finished it," he says breezily. "I asked Miss if I could come and speak to you, y'know, be like your guide for the day. Invite you to sit with me and my friend's at lunch, show you where all your classes are, that sort of thing?"

"Look," I say with a little sigh and my teeth begin to nibble my lip gently. "I don't want to be your personal dead weight; I don't want you and your friends to feel forced to carry the burden of the new girl like a constant omen. People often go off you the second you start taking in the new kids, I know that first hand, and your friends will probably get sick to death of me quickly." He grins at me and his eyes flash as if he knows he has the answer to all of my pessimism.

"It was actually my friend Mary who sent me over here," he confesses, laughing quietly. "She's the only main girl in our gang and I think the chance of having you, another girl around, was all too appealing to her. Most the girls here find my build a little…Imposing, and seeing as you're not screaming and running away, I think I'm not going to piss her off monumentally."

I laugh dryly and take hold of his hand, shaking it. Fuck he has a strong grip! "Well, Grubbs, I don't think I'm going to let Mary kill you just yet." He laughs a little louder and turns around, making a single at a girl who must be Mary. She's average height, medium build, gorgeous face, but her hair's that mousy brown most people hate which explains why men aren't fighting over her and she's drably dressed too. Simplistic lavender top, pale jeans, greeny-blue sneakers.

"Look, I have a question for you." Grubbs asked.

"Shoot." I say, letting my usual guard down for this boy. He's clearly not taking the piss or my indifferent demeanour would have scared him off.

"Did Dervish and your mum…Y'know?" I know what he's inferring too immediately and I laugh at that, he joins in, the two of us getting some weird looks from the rest of the class in the process but neither of us cares too much.

"I have no clue," I admit, gasping for air. "I think she implied it, but I never asked. Didn't want to really; bringing up my mother's old list of boyfriend's is a subject I doubt most teenage girls wish to venture down, a very slippery slope indeed, and besides, I doubt I'll get a sex life. Hearing about my mother's obvious fabulous one will just be another kick to the self-esteem. I look like Alice on Wonderland if she was fucked up."

Grubbs looks like he wants to pat my shoulder but doesn't, unsure of my response. "I'm sure there are some guys who crave Alice in Wonderland types." His tone is half-jokey but half-serious as well, and I know he's genuinely trying to cheer me up. "Like some bizarre…Cosplay fetish." We both burst into a fresh set of laughter at him hinting some guys would desire having cosplay sex with me.

"You find me one of these men Grady," I smile slightly and slap him gently on the arm. "I'll pay you so much money you'll make Bill Gates look like a homeless man on the corner." Another round of laughter. Well, I think this is the beginning of what could turn into a beautiful friendship!

* * *

The rest of the day breezes by surprisingly smoothly; I go to my classes and hang out with the rest of Grubbs Grady's friends at lunch. They accept me into their group and I tell them about my life in England before I moved her. They seem genuinely interested in what I got up to before I came here, which feels great of course. To my absolute delight, I finally feel like I'm fitting in with a group of people; and the feeling of a group is enjoyable, something I've never had before.

The wind sweeps by peacefully as I walk down the pavement, and make my way towards the hill which leads to the woods. The woods are like my shortcut; I spent my first few days in the Vale walking through them, practicing the route to school till I knew it off by heart. It would've been pretty frightening, as well as embarrassing, if on my very first day at my new school, I'd stumbled around the woods like an imbecile and eventually give up, go home, and be driven there by my dad, arriving late. Lateness is one of my big issues, and I hate the way people stare at you when you walk into the class, head bowed, ashamed. On your very first day, it feels even worse.

The woods are silent, almost eerily so. The occasional bird dips throughout the trees like a kite, gliding and swooping gracefully; the odd patch of light spills onto the earth below, igniting the dust spores in the air like pale grains of sand; roots stick out, but I step over them, like twisted arms. It's one of the prettiest woods I've ever walked in. Back in Newcastle, I lived in a suburb-so obviously vegetation wasn't too plentiful. And the landscape was extremely bleak. It's sort of like a culture shock to see all of this, but I slowly accustomed to it all.

I used to hate woods, when I was a child. They scared me, that feeling of the unknown, the shadows, the trees hiding people, the bushes providing someone with violent thoughts protection. It all just seemed eerie, now it's beautiful to me. My entire outlook has changed entirely on the natural world.

So lost in my own thoughts of the difference of my homes, I don't notice a figure standing next to a tree, and only look up when I hear a short, sharp whistle. I hate whistling like that, it's so rude and shrill, as if the person whose lips pursed to create the whistle thinks they're so much better than you. Whistling can be cute, it can be sweet, it can even be seductive, but most of the time-its arrogance. And this whistle was fucking ignorance defined.

I spin sharply on my heels, an unimpressed glower set on my facial features, only for the annoyance to quickly shift into one of confusion. A person, I place his age between sixteen and nineteen, is leaning against the tree like a typical film hitman or villain. He's _impossibly_ pale skinned, making me look tanned. Tall and slender, dressed expensively but like a riverboat gambler from Venice. Rich, blood red coat, black lace at the neck and down the front, matching, straight black pants and boots. A straight-brimmed, matching crimson hat shades his face, and a gold mask covers everything but his chin and eyes. Dark eyes stared at me through the mask.

His tongue danced over his lips and teeth; _fangs_? What the hell?

"It's a mighty good job you came this way, or I'd have been sitting here for two hours and a half for just about nothin'." His voice had a Southern accent, clashing with his Venetian style outfit. He laughs at this, as if it was some private joke. His laugh is crisp, clear, bitter and rich; like dark chocolate. "You _do_ look like Alice in Wonderland, the boss wasn't wrong now, was she? She promised me I'd get an Alice type, but you just take the biscuit, don't ya'll."

"Um…" Is my beautifully witty response to the strange, fanged boys' big introduction. "Not to sound rude, but who are you?"

Another laugh, and this time it's a little less pretty. It's smugger, more arrogant, as if he's _so_ sure he's the superior in this argument. "You can call me San Valentino." The name doesn't match the accent, but underneath the thick Southern US accent, I can hear the smallest of hints of a European one. Spanish or Italian maybe. "And you are, miss? The boss never gave me a name, just a description."

Part of me desperately wants to lie to boot; I want to either give him a false name like 'Lucy Smith' or downright refuse to tell him. But part of my common sense warns me this will be a bad decision, as if he could _sense_ when I was lying or something unimaginable like that. "I'm Esther Baker. Now, not to sound too rude, but you haven't exactly been Mr Polite with me, what do you want Mr Valentino?"

Yet again, San Valentino laughs and it's really beginning to piss me off. He raises a hand, which is covered in a matching red glove, to his head and takes off the hat, revealing short hair a few shades to dark to be auburn, but too light to be properly brown; and tips it at me. "I've been sent to deliver a message, or should that be a warning?" Uh-oh, I am _not liking_ the way this conversation is going. San Valentino looks at me like he needs conformation to continue; I nod, although I don't really want to. "We need to speak to your daddy."

_We?_ Who the hell is _we_? San Valentino _seems_ to be all alone but you can never be too careful…And dad? What does he want with _my dad_? "I can smell your confusion." He says, making me jump, then shiver and he flashes me another fangy grin.

I swallow slowly; massaging my temples as I do so, but my eyes never leave the mysterious, continental mix dressed San Valentino. His eyes never leave me either and I don't like the way he's looking at me one bit. Like a lion eyeing up a cute little lamb it's about to eat; I have a feeling San Valentino would like to get up close and personal with me, and it made me feel even more uncomfortable in the strange boy's presence.

"I'd love to taste your essence." _I bet you would_, I think but keep my mouth buttoned shut until I feel like I've thought of a suitable question.

"Why do you need to see my dad?" I ask him, my voice coming out stronger than I thought it would, which pleases me. I'm positive that if my 'daddy' knew a lunatic who dressed like a riverboat Venetian, his name would have come up in at least one conversation. "Does…" I faltered before finding my voice again. "Does my mum know?"

"Nope," San Valentino says breezily. "She never knew, he couldn't let her even hear about his visits to our club." _Club?_ My dad never goes clubbing…Or at least, I think he doesn't. "Or he'd have to explain his little _secrets_ to her." Secrets? What the fuck is this lunatic talking about? "Ever wondered how daddy makes enough money to keep ya'll comfortable?" He asks smugly, so assured of his own knowledge. Part of me wants to scream at him, jump on him, pull his hair, slap him, kick him, _bite _him; but I know he isn't lying…San Valentino may be arrogant and malicious, but he isn't a liar.

"I…I don't understand…" I mumble meekly. I feel my head spinning and place one hand on a tree to stop myself from fainting down dead.

"I'm not asking ya to, sugar," within a split second he's standing above me. I'm shoulder height with him and partially collapse against him. He wraps two slender, surprisingly strong arms around me but removes one to stroke my hair. I didn't feel comfortable, but I didn't want to let this onto him. "Such a pretty little thing, aren't ya," he laughs to himself; that bitter chocolate laugh making me wriggle against his body which is cool as the Antarctic.

I should be asking how he moved so quickly; am I just dizzy, or did he truly move that fast? A deep dread in the bottom of my stomach tells me the boy hugging me to his chest isn't human, but I have no clue what he is. The fangs make me think 'vampire' but…He's walking around in the daylight. I suck up my fears and lean my head back, staring up at his mask covered face. "What are you?" I sounded strangled.

He laughs again, but this time it sounds like he's amused that I'm asking the obvious question. "Part of me wants to lie to you, say I am human and your delusional, but I figure you're a little too bright for that. So I'm gonna be honest with ya." _Goodie goodie_, the sarcastic part of my mind chimes. "I'm a vampoari."

"A what-"

"A vampoari," he interrupts me. "Basis of the storybook vampires," I feel his gloved hands swish through my pale blonde hair, tugging the tips slightly. "But not one of those soppy, pathetic, 'fall in love' with human types." He spits on the ground, very attractive. "I could give you the details, but I'll let you figure them out yaself. I have the typical traits-I drink blood, but I can live on animal blood, and humans are a rare treat for me; I'm super strong, super quick-as you've just seen, and have heightened senses; I'm immortal, but I can die via stake, fire, silver to the heart, or having my head cut off; I can heal, and my blood can heal yours; and if I bit ya, I could make you like me. But," he pauses, clearly for flair. "I can do things others can't."

I look into his dark eyes and immediately look away, having a feeling that looking directly at him might let him do something I would regret. I feel some sort of…Power wash over me like water; like long, thin, freezing fingers are ghosting over my skin, and I feel like his age is pounding against me, his age flooding through his power. I look up at him gingerly, shaking slightly and feel extremely bemused. "You're just over nine hundred years old," I say quickly.

The bittersweet chocolate laugh returns and I slip away from him when he spreads his arms to laugh. "You are a somethin' ain't you? Full of surprises. But the little girl of Michael Baker would be special, wouldn't she? Ah mean, he had the gall to do this to me!" He peels back his mask, fangs shooting out as he openly displays his fury and I gasp in horror.

The left side of his face is scarred with pinkish-white splash shapes, like someone chucked acid on his face; his healing's clearly done its best to cleanse the scars but nothing's going to make the last bits fade. Only his eye and it's lid remain unharmed. His face was pitted, and looked like at first it had tried not to melt; I felt a sickening amount of sympathy bubble for the vampoari boy and a horrified fury at my father. I know San Valentino is no lost little kitten for sure, but that must have been so painful.

"Holy Water," He says bitterly, his beautiful, scarred face twisting so it looks a little less beautiful. "Your daddy through Holy Water at me when I just went to receive my payment for all the favours I did for him. Glamouring your mama's parents into letting him marry her; getting that stupid curator to put his painting in the gallery; feeding him my blood so for a short period of time he seemed more attractive, so your mama would draw away from Dervish Grady, and gravitate to him. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't exist, little Esther."

"What was your payment?" I sound hushed, mortified, and I feel it. My dad lied to my mum? He forced her to marry him by getting a vampoari named San Valentino to enhance his life? My entire existence is thanked to the basis creature of vampires? I feel so betrayed. My entire life is based around my father's selfish need to feel wanted by my beautiful mother.

Valentino laughs and strokes my face with one gloved hand, before cupping it with both, forcing my eyes to meet his. "That I get to request any favour of any kind I want to him, and I chose my favour to be you." I jump and shudder all over, making him snicker again. "I told your father I wanted to marry his eldest daughter, and look, that's you. My boss agreed to the deal, and here we are. But then," his fangs extend and his face looks angry again. "He did something so _human_!" I'm guessing that means 'stupid' in vampoari speak. "He made that deal with Lord Daire, a filthy demon lord, to have another child for when I collected you when you were sixteen."

"Then he went back on his word," I reply.

"You just hit the nail on the head sugar, but yep. He'd grown attached to you, far too attached, and who can blame him? You look like a little Alice in Wonderland; pretty, intelligent, so much potential." I feel blood rush to my face, and his eyes flash like he wants to bite me right here and now. "No wonder he wanted you to stay. Evie just wouldn't replace you. And even with the upcoming baby, he can't let go." He replaces his hat on top of his rusty reddy-brown hair and bows. "Until next time, Esther." I feel the wind whoosh all around me and he's gone, silently as he came.

I turn on my heels and race home, unsure of what to do as I dash through woodland. Tell dad and have him have to explain the truth to mum, or let him be ignorant till I'm sixteen and disappear? And Lord Daire, the dream woman is real? This is too much. I feel like a computer whose owner is trying to download files I don't have enough memory for. I wish I had someone to tell. I can't tell Grubbs or my new friend circle-Mary, Loch, Leon, Frank, Charlie, Reni and Shannon, they'll think I'm a lunatic or have a way too overactive imagination. Parents are a definite no! Evie wouldn't' understand, she's far too little, and she'd probably tell mum, which would swing back round to the other problems I have. The only other person who comes to mind is Violet, it's a long shot, and she could have the same response as most others, but hopefully she'll understand.

_Hopefully._

**A/N: So, it's all kicking off now! Esther is engaged to a non-human creature thanks to her dad; the strange dream woman is real, and she has no-one to turn to! R&R please!**


	4. Necromancer?

Home? Where you're at your safest right? Not my home. Still shaking I ease open the front door, only to find a piece of white, lined paper stuck to the wall. _'Carnaval de la Mort, 9 o'clock, tonight. Valentino.' _Joyas joyity! My future husband, who enjoys drinking people's blood, has made a date with me behind my back. A horrible sick feeling at the bottom of my stomach told me there would be some extra information written on the back, and boy, was I correct. _'P.S. Don't forget to wear something blue. Like I said, Alice in Wonderland really suits you sugar.' _

I feel myself shudder and cross my arms across my chest with a glare; I refuse to drop the low of playing dress up doll for a bloodsucking parasite. Even if they're a particularly scarred and frightening one. But deep down I know that I'll end up complying with Valentino's wishes. I shudder uncomfortably but make my way upstairs to my room anyways.

The house is silent as a graveyard. Mum's at work, and dad left a note of his own, telling me he'd gone grocery shopping with Evie in tow, leaving me alone. I curse them silently inside my head; wishing one of them could be here as I study the letter over and over again, my fingers tracing San Valentino's black penned, swirled writing. I roll my eyes and sigh quietly under my breath, checking the clock that sits at the top of the upstairs landing; the darkness of its wooden frame bizarre against the pale blue painted wall. It's almost five o'clock, giving me four hours to compose myself, get ready, and make an excuse for my reason of going out. I decide I'll claim I'm going into the Vale to catch a movie with Grubbs and Bill-E.

Bill-E is Grubbs' friend from when he first came here himself; he's a small, chubby boy with a lazy left eye and dark hair. Dressed plainly; faded grey t-shirt with a logo of a wolf on the front, scuffed jeans, and similarly scuffed trainers. Odd, but in an endearing way in my opinion; he told me interesting things about the Vale, and told me the well-known tale of Lord Sheftree, guy who fed his own baby to his pet piranha. Well, what a charming ickle place I'm living in eh? Vampoari in the woods, men feeding babies to carnivorous fish, what next? Please don't tell me some crazy girl killed and ate her boyfriend in my new room.

Laughing a little at my own private joke, I open my bedroom door, and stop dead. There's something on my bed, wrapped tightly in plastic. An outfit; a blue dress, I bet myself. Goodie goodie, San Valentino's been in my room, probably gone through all my things, maybe even stole my underwear-I wouldn't put it past him. I sigh again and dash over to the plastic wrapped item, and like I knew, it's a dress. An _extremely_ expensive dress, seriously, like one of the ones a filmstar might wear at the Grammy's or the Oscars.

Not too long, but not too short, it'll be just below my paper white thighs; baby blue that will contrast with my eyes in a _good _way for once, patterns neatly sewn on it in white, glittering thread that makes it look like it's been kissed by diamonds, and makes me feel incredibly special. Little white lacy bow to tie around the waist, genuine silk white piece of ribbon to tie around my throat like a choker. But of course, a white Alice hairband; hardy ha ha! And a tiny pair of white sandals to finish the outfit with a flourish. _Oh San Valentino, you do spoil me,_ a stupid, giggling voice remarks in my head. I cross my arms across my chest and crumble the note, chucking it sideways into the bin.

I sit on my bed next to the dress and think about where I'm going. 'Carnaval de la Mort' means 'carnival of death' in French, always promising to know that I'm going to a place apparently which causes death. Are the vampoari always into giving their hang out spots the most cliché names? The 'carnival of death', club 'fangs out', subtlety guys, great friend.

Picking up the phone gingerly, I dial Violet's number. I don't call her much, I use my computer to send her emails, and we chat online every night, giving each other updates on our lives. But I have a feeling the vampoari will find a way to hack my emails eventually, so I'm taking no chances. As I hear the phone begin to ring, I look behind me, and pad softly over to the window in my socks, staring out of it. No sign of a vampoari but one can never be too careful; I still doubt San Valentino was alone in those woods; it was like I could sense other beings presence there. Weird. If vampire type creatures existed, it made me question what else can.

Violet picks up on the fifth ring, sounding full of cold; she has extreme hay fever. "Hello?" She asks, her nose bunged up and sounding extremely tired.

"It's Esther," I say, my voice shaking a little. "I need to talk to you."

"Shoot," Violet says, although she sounds like she's dying.

"Do you believe in vampires?" I ask slowly.

"Vampires?" She beings laughing heartily, instantly sounding much better than she did before the second it comes out of her mouth. But she stops when she recognises the seriousness in my tone. "W-what's going on…" She asks, her voice thick with fear and concern.

"I met something like one on the way home from school today," I swallow tightly. "He called himself San Valentino, valentine in Italian, and claimed he's a vampoari." I say the word slowly and cautiously. "Apparently they're the origin of vampires, only real, and can walk in the sun, stalk me all day, and get into my room. They also have a fondness for delivering me pretty dresses, and apparently I'm marrying one!"

"Are you screwing with me?" Violet asks cautiously. "If this is joke, Esther, I'll-"

"I'm not joking!" I cut her off quickly. "This is serious, and you're the only person I can turn to Vi, this vampoari boy is serious on marrying me, and I have no say in the matter." Another sigh. "I'm going out at nine o'clock with them, to 'the carnival of death', fun right?"

"Be careful!" Violet says quickly. "Look, I'm sure I could beg dad to drive me down here in about two days' time."

"That'd be a great help!" I smile a little to myself; thrilled that someone finally understands and believes my insane situation. "See you soon Vi."

"You too Esther." The phone goes dead and I prepare myself for the night of my life, literally. This night may end my own.

* * *

Mum bought my lie about going to catch a film, and I rung Grubbs, asking him to comply my story. I lied to him that I was meeting up with a boy my parents didn't like and he believed me; I hate lying to my friends, but sometimes it's for the best. And on this occasion I know it's for the best. Getting my friends wrapped up with San Valentino and his clan of vampiric monsters will not do me any favours; it'll only get my new friends killed or scarred for life. And sadly, in this case, the former seems much more likely.

The Circus of Blood sounds like a pretty fucked up location, and so I'm deciding that for once, sticking with the bloodsucking vampoari will benefit; I don't literally want to end up dead. Dancing with death, teetering on the edge is one thing, but to actually feel your life slowly slipping away…That's a whole new horror that I wish to never experience, at least, not any time soon.

But something tells me this isn't just about death or paying back San Valentino for his scarring, this is about something different entirely, I have a use for the vampoari. I have no clue what this use is, but something else tells me tonight I all will be revealed. There are things I don't know about myself, and if San Valentino has the answers I seek, so be it; I'll work the system, play the game, but in the end I promise myself I'll be the victor. I will beat him at his own game, and then it'll be my turn to laugh at him. And I'll laugh as long, and as loudly as I want to!

The letter also told me to wait at the end of the lane leading to my house, so there was no way my father would be able to see the car that picks me up. I have a feeling deep in my stomach that my father would recognise a 'Fangs Out' car, despite not having seen them for over a decade apparently. But I don't think I would either now that I'm looking at one.

Purple, who in this world owns a purple car; a rich Egyptian purple car I mean, not a plum colour. The car has been waxed till it glimmers like a giant diamond in the moonlight, its headlights coming out in a similarly gaudy purple; _how obnoxious_, is all I can think. The windows have been blacked out, a sensible move, and I have no clue how many vampoari are in the car, or how powerful they are.

One of the moon caressed doors opens, and _someone_, not San Valentino steps out. She's human, I can sense that immediately, the very second one leather clad leg swings out of the car. Her pants are liquid leather, and royal blue in colour, and due to her large thighs and thick calves, I don't think they look too good on her. White leopard print top that goes off the shoulder, and clashes with her royal blue pants, but I think that was the intended affect. Pretty auburn hair, like a liquid sheen, cut off at her shoulders. Average coloured skin, a sort of peachy colour, goes well with her warm brown eyes. If she had better style, I'd say she was beautiful.

"Hello…" I say awkwardly, and the girl looks extremely uninterested, clearly thinking I'm the inferior. Bitch.

"Hi," she says, her accent cockney, a Londoner. "I'm Cynthia Ellenscrow, but call me Cindy, everyone does." It sounds stupid and tacky, but I nod and smile the best I can, making me look 'cute' in my blue Alice in Wonderland dress. I'm a few head taller than Cindy, even though she looks about seventeen; so either I'm really tall, or she's a midget; the latter seems more fitting. She sweeps her hand over the purple Pimp Mobile, and I try not to snigger, succeeding for once. "Come in."

I take a step forwards and make my way to the open door, stepping inside, with Cynthia Ellenscrow climbing in after me. There are only three vampoari in the back of the car, a promising sign, but it also means there will be more waiting for me. San Valentino is one of them; dressed like a riverboat gambler, only he's ditched the black and red for a nice indigo and white number, which looks better on him. His mask is silver, and he has a cane in one hand, looking suave. He tips his indigo hat when he sees me and I nod, politeness masking my non-obvious discomfort.

The other two vampoari study me cautiously, but make no effort to move or greet me. One is fairly short, but he still manages to be taller than Cindy; his skin is the colour of coffee, rich and warm brown, looking slightly odd against his pure white suit and red tie. His black hair has been slicked back, and matches his ebony eyes perfectly; several expensive looking rings are coating his fingers, and I can see his shoes because one of his legs is crossed over the other. Red spats, a little odd, but matching. His eyes never leave me, and a smile tweaks his lips, making him look a little disturbing.

Finally, comes the first female vampoari I've ever met. Magnificent. That's all I can think when I see her, in all her dangerous splendour. Black hair so black it has a tinge of blue when the light hits it, falls around her shoulders in delicate curls; eyes like emeralds stare at me, long eyelashes batting around them. Long like a camels, but attractive too. Pale as snow, the closest to Snow White I've ever seen; long, delicate hands curled in her lap like a sleeping cat. Dressed from head to toe in black, but tastefully so. Liquid leather pants, like Cindy's, but they suit her, outlining her slender legs. Black strapless top, with embroidery threaded through it, a shockingly expensive looking necklace hanging near her cleavage. Black knee length boots. A true little vampire type.

"Esther," the jazz cat in white and scarlet nods. San Valentino must have filled them both in with names. "I am Decha, the power. This," he gestures at Little Miss Stunner In Black. "Is Beauté Nacré, pearly beauty, in the language of love, French? Rather fitting I believe."

"Oh, yes, sir," I say quickly. Cindy laughs at my perfect manners, but the 'pearly beauty' silences her with one scathing look.

"Ignore Cynthia," she says; her voice rich and soothing, like silk is being rubbed against my cheeks, instantly making me feel at home and calm. I'm beginning to realise she's in charge of the 'Fangs Out' vampoari, by her posture, the way she was the only one to tell Cindy off, it's all becoming clear. "She is simply jealous of San Valentino's interest in you. And my own of course." She smiles, flashing snake-like fangs at me, but not trying to frighten me in the process. "But how could anyone not be jealous of someone with your power?"

"Power?" I ask, bewildered at what she's getting at.

"Yes," her accent is breaking into a French one, romantic and beautiful, just like her being. "Please, tell me how old I am." I feel her power slipping over me, probing at my mind like a stick, but it isn't as strong as San Valentino's attempt. It's weaker, and not by the fact she's choosing to be, she just isn't as old as him.

"I'd say you're almost about 600?" I guess, and she laughs loud and rich; like a song drifting around the cramped space in the back of the Pimp Mobile. Cindy is gawping at me, horrified that I've proven myself in front of the beings she's spent years failing to do.

"How did you do that?" Decha's voice sounds like he's in awe of me, as if he wants me to know how much he admires my power, and I instantly feel flattered. "Tell me how old _I_ am!" The similar feeling of power slips over me, rubbing up my arms and closer to my brain. Still not as strong as Valentino, but more powerful than Beauté.

"You're in your mid 700's, right?" He too laughs, and I know I've gotten his age correct to; his laugh isn't like Beauté or Valentino's though, it's plain, yet cheerful and delighted. But it doesn't have the impact theirs did. _It must be a power_, I figure. _Valentino said he could do things other's couldn't, this must be one of them. _

"I told ya she was somethin' special," Valentino grins and shoots me a little wink. "Even Marcella couldn't do this when we first met her, she's different y'all." He pronounces the woman's name 'MAR-CHELLA' although I'm guessing there's no 'h' involved in the spelling. As if her name is a cue, the car jolts to a stop, and the door opens slowly, carefully. It's like the person opening the door is old and weak; and I'm proven right when the figure steps into the car.

Her age shocks me though, she only looks like she's in her mid-fifties, but she moves slowly, like every step is causing her immense pain. Her skin is tanned, and her eyes and hair are dark, so I know she's Latino. Her eyes are warm though, and have a kind sheen to them; her hair is peaking her waist like mine, and corkscrew curled ebony in shade. She's dressed in a pair of plane jeans, and a black blouse that looks fairly expensive. Her hands are scarred and Valentino passes her the cane.

"Marcella," the southern vampoari tips his hat like a true gentleman; Decha simply nods but holds out his arm, helping the in-pain woman to sit down, in-between himself and Beauté Nacré. The female vampoari places her arm on Marcella's shoulder and squeezes it. "This is Esther, the little gal I told you about."

Marcella looks at me and smiles slightly; the minute she does so her face looks younger, and twice as soft and beautiful. "Ah, my progeny," her voice is heavily accented, but English is her first language. But _progeny_? What the hell?

"Excuse me, ma'am," I say politely, this time Cindy doesn't laugh. "But, what are you talking about?"

"Did Valentino not tell you?" I shake my head at her question and she tuts slightly. "Boy," she sighs, looking at him, and he laughs loudly making her smile. "One of these days you must remember to inform women of such things, but now is not the time for lecturing. Esther," she leans across the gap between the seats and takes my soft hands with her own weathered ones. "You have been born with a tremendous gift, the gift of necromancy." I feel my eyes go wide. Necromancy? As in, bringing people back from the dead? Holy shit. "The gene is passed down in families," Marcella explains. "But it skipped your father Michael, leading for him to become a painter; but in true form, it resurfaced in his daughter, in you. I'm sure you know what necromancy is, the conjuring of the deceased, but you will require my help to control it. Especially after I'm gone."

"Marcella's dying," Beauté Nacré says softly in her glamorous accent, making even such a depressing statement sound poetic. "Too many years of resurrecting people and zombies are causing her to rot; she has to use magic to sustain her body now. But if she can teach you, Esther, then we will have hope!"

"What's the difference between a human resurrection and a zombie resurrection?" Cindy asks, the first thing she's said in front of the vampoari.

"A zombie resurrection is where you bring back a person but they are not fully alive," Marcella explains to the both of us. "They are mindless, they only seek to be controlled by those who bring them back, and they are not a _real_ person. But if you bring back a human, they will be as they were before death; they will be truly alive, their heart still beating, personality still intact, memories restored. Truly a person." She smiles. "But they necromancer must learn young, or they will end up like me." She sighs. "Start young and you will flourish Esther, always remember that."

"What about my parents?" I ask cautiously. "Will they know about this? Where will I live? Will I still attend school? What's going to happen to me?"

"You will still receive an education at the Vale's school," Beauté reassures me. "But you will live with Marcella from now onwards, so nothing happens to you. And you will work for us, but of course we will pay you when you do a job for us, we are not tight fisted." I swallow back any complaints; no more family, I'll miss them dearly but I know I have no choice in the matter. "Your parents will be contacted, and your belongings collected. Marcella has plenty of room in her house."

"So this was why you contacted me?" I ask, "So you can tell me about my new life, cool…" I smile awkwardly at them. "And you're taking me to the carnival so I can meet the rest of the vampoari?" At least I know where I stand.

"No," Valentino says and I open my mouth, fury bubbling up, but he cuts me off before I can start insulting him like I want to. "That was just a pretence. Sorry that I lied to you, my Esther, but we knew you'd never come otherwise; the dress was just to convince you that my story was true. We really bought you along so Marcella could show you how her abilities work, so you what you will be in for."

"Great, just great," I mumble embittered, hating San Valentino, Decha and Beauté Nacré with an intense passion. I don't hate Cindy though; I just pity her dependence upon these creatures. I only feel truly safe with Marcella, who is like me, a necromancer. Although I've only just found this destiny changing piece of information out. Life is certainly a bitch.

The car halts, and we step out; I realise we've driven from my house, to Marcella's, only to come back to…_Dervish Grady's house_? "What are we doing here?" I ask, shocked at the location they've chosen. "This is trespassing! We can't just come onto his land and resurrect every-"

"Necromancer's do not require permission," Beauté Nacré states in a superior sort of way. "They can go on anyone's land to raise corpses, even the Disciples know this. Dervish Grady is a Disciple, so he will have to like it or lump it." I laugh at the moderness of that statement and she smiles. Brownie point for me.

Marcella leads us round to the very back of the mansion, into the woods. The trees bend over us like knarled, witches hands, out to grab us. The ground is bumpy and uneven, and I'm glad that Valentino chose sensible footwear for me. Cindy is already out of breath, although we're not even that far into the woods; _should've laid off the McDonald's, Miss Piggy_, is all I can think of saying. But I keep my mouth shut and smile sweetly at her, ignoring the daggers she glares in return. Brownie point for me.

The entire place gives me the major creeps, I have no clue how Grubbs can live here but then again, there are a lot of things about the world that confuse me, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Everything seems to be leering at me, stretching out to grab me and hurt me. And I hate it, I hate everything about this place; not the house itself, but the outer regions like this are just horrid. Even with the moon shining overhead like a giant, white, ethereal marble of light in the sky, I keep myself close to Marcella, and don't look back. That's the worst thing I could do.

We finally arrive, at an open, odd plot of land in the centre of a quarry type area. It looks pretty untouched but I can sense human energy here, the energy of two boys. I'm betting it's Bill-E and Grubbs; I can naturally sense Grubbs' aura from back at the house, but Bill-E's is here too. He confided in me that he believes Dervish is his father, so it is understandable why he would come to the house often and hang out at the quarry with Grubbs. Grubbs knows this too, but seemed uncomfortable when Bill-E told me. It wasn't jealousy, it was as if there's something he isn't' telling either of us; it is now my mission to discover what this is. After I get my head round all the mad shit that's been sprung upon me tonight.

"The cave was just below here," Marcella says quietly, solemnly. "The body will be buried several feet, the depth of which I do not know." I stare at her, confused.

"Then how will you raise the body?" I ask, everyone's eyes turn to me. "I mean, if it's down what could be hundreds of feet, how will it rise close enough to the surface for the person to be able to climb out? Will there even be a body? I'm betting this could be thousands of years old by the looks of this place, will there even be anyone to bring back?"

"A strong necromancer can bring back anyone," the 'pearly beauty' informs me. "Even without a body, Marcella can raise them, just by spirit. As long as we have a sacrifice." She looks at Cindy whose eyes practically pop out of her skull, but laughs heartily and shakes her head. "An animal sacrifice, my dears." As if by magic, she produces a large, pure white lamb. A literal 'white lamb' sacrifice. Almost poetic, is all I can think to myself.

She leads the lamb over to Marcella, who has unsheathed a knife from its hilt. I feel my skin begin to prickle with goose bumps but say nothing; I cannot interrupt this, I need to learn. Even if it means a cute, innocent, ickle lamb must die in the process of my learning; I know more will be killed. "How come you can use a lamb to raise someone who's been dead for thousands of years? I thought it'd take a human being or something seen as more 'valuable' to do this?" Marcella looks at me, interested at my question.

"You ask many questions Esther, all of them extremely useful, I enjoy your curiosity like a cat enjoys fresh cream. And to answer your question, which you rightly asked; lambs are seen as the signature of hope, innocence and purity, even more so than humans. True, you can use a virgin maiden to bring back a dead person, but due to my power I do not require this. And sacrificing a human would have horrific consequences I cannot begin to tell you of. And if I teach you well enough, so will you." She smiles at me.

After laying the goat peacefully down on the floor, so it's in a sleeping position, she takes a knife to its throat and after one clean, swift cut, a river of blood-looking black in the low light, trickles onto the ground around us, dripping through cracks in the earth, down into the cavern. I watch, unblinking, and swallow tightly as the wind in the air picks up around us. Magic is clearly afoot. I have a sudden sick feeling and my knees begin knocking together, but it's ignored.

Marcella's eyes are closed, her mouth saying silent words, as the wind picks up; the trees surrounding the area beginning to be tugged by the violent wind, as my eyes watch the ground with a shining interest. The vampoari are emotionless statues, only blinking proving they're not just mannequins. Cindy is shivering with sheer terror, under different circumstances, and if Cindy had been kinder to me, I would have offered her some comfort. But I don't think I owe her it. Call me a bitch, I don't care; Cindy's twice as much the bitch I'll ever be, and common decency from me would be too much to give her.

I watch the earth intently, waiting for something to happen, and sure enough, it does. The ground begins to part like an earthquake has hit us, splitting the ground apart, but in a neat way. A long, thin crack slithers along the ground like a hungry snake, and it begins to widen, giving the awakening being a chance to crawl out of their cavernous prison. The wind picks up even more and my dress is whipping around my thighs, fluttering like a cape around me.

Sure enough, _something _happens. A hand shoots out the ground, and someone screams, it's Cindy-but we all knew it'd be her. It's untouched, like the person hasn't been dead for possible thousands of years, but just fell down a hole. Scratches litter the callous skin, but those came long before their untimely death, and they're not too old either. The hand's still fairly small, but bigger than mine, so I'm guessing it's a boy, or a particularly masculine girl at that, but boy is a safer bet.

Another hand follows, and the now alive person begins to try and pull themselves out of the ground. I take a step forwards to give them a hand, but Marcella's hand clamps down on my shoulder and she pulls me back. "No, niña," she says. From the little knowledge of Spanish I have, I know 'niña' means 'little girl'. "Let him pull himself out of the ground, if he slips and falls and you are holding on, you will go down with him and die down there too." So I was right, it is a boy, but I acknowledge her warning and stay still as a statue.

"This is dangerous," whispers Decha. "You could open the gateway for the Demonata-"

"No." Marcella hisses at the vampoari with amazing courage. "The sacrifice must be human for the tunnel to be opened; a lamb's blood will not grant Lord Loss his wishes of opening the tunnel. I promise you that." Pushing my fears of this new news aside, I study the boy as he tries to pull himself out of the ground, still wanting to dash forwards and help him up. I think he's going to pull it off though, his arms are up now, covered in familiar scarring as his hands, but even deeper and more painful looking.

"How did he get them?" I whisper breathlessly and Marcella looks at me.

"Fighting demons," she replies. "The boy had incredible bravery I have heard; he will be a good addition to our circle. Such a shame about his twin," she sighs.

"Twin?" I ask, curiosity peaked.

"Yes, he had a twin. But I am weak, my rotting illness hinders my abilities, I will die trying to resurrect his twin. Besides, we have no clue where his body is, so it would be futile." She looks back at the boy who is struggling to pull himself out and smiles softly. "Decha," she looks at the splendidly dressed vampoari. "Help him out of his predicament. It is painful to watch him fail; he is weakened from the strength of willing his organs to work again."

Decha nods and rushes forwards, quicker than I can blink; he grabs hold of the boy's arms and picks him out of the ground like a potato, dropping him on his back, onto the earth below. He coughs violently for a couple of silent minutes, before looking up at the five of us, confusion on his face. My caring side, which is rare to see, takes over and I kneel down next to him, ignoring the stones digging into my bare legs as he pushes himself up with his arms. He isn't even kneeling upright yet and he can make eye contact with me.

Red hair, bright red hair. Not ginger like Grubbs, natural red, a colour extremely rare to find nowadays with all the dye and the peroxides we depend upon; stubble around his face, like he chose not to shave in his original life span. A short lifespan indeed. He only looks sixteen years old, a little over a year older than me. Naked chest area but he's wearing a tunic, which means that I don't have to get too embarrassed. Lots of earrings embedded in his ears, like small hands enclosed around them. We make eye contact, my indigo, with his light green and it's the singular most awkward moment of my life.

I can feel Cindy loitering in the background, hovering like she wishes to get involved in our close body contact. A whore as well as a bitch, great! Sue me, I'm judgemental.

"Is he okay?" Cindy asks, tactful as ever, and the boy looks at her like he can't understand a word she's saying, confusion creasing his facial features. All is making sense; he's from ancient Ireland, he doesn't speak a word of English, only Celtic. "Are _you_ doing something to him?" She accuses me, and anger flushes across my face, reddening my cheeks and my mouth is open with open disgust.

"_I_ am not doing anything to him, and don't talk about him like he isn't here!" I hiss at her, she glowers and spits at me, charming. "It's probably _you_, and all your human energy fucking up the aura of the environment." The vampoari snigger and Marcella smiles at me, congratulating me for sticking up for myself. The boy, whose name I still don't know, clamps his hand down on my shoulder and I jump out of my skin, with a little squeak of surprise. Cindy smirks but I don't want to put any effort into looking at her.

"What is that girl saying?" He asks me and I jump out of my skin, I can understand him. I've never learnt Celtic during any point of my life, so how can _I_ understand _him_, but more importantly how can _he_ understand _me_? "I…I don't recognise that language." His accent is thick, Irish, even thicker than my classmates, but I guess it makes him cuter. I've always liked accents, but my own makes me sound stupid as fuck.

"It's English," I say uncertainly. "The language most people speak now, even here in Ireland." He looks even more confused now. "It's 2005, you've been dead for thousands of years." He looks terrified, and I have to clamp my hands on his bare shoulders so he doesn't run off and get himself hurt. "But it's okay! I…I can look after you. I understand what you're saying, I don't know how but I can, something inside me is translating what you're saying."

The others are staring at me like I've lost my mind, even Cindy. "How can she understand him?" Cindy asks, obviously not wanting to speak to me directly.

"Some necromancers can know any language," Marcella says. "I was not blessed with that gift, but my niece-Rosetta, was. She can even speak Ancient Greek; it appears Esther has this gift too, and a good thing. Or he would have no-one to talk to." I try my best to ignore this and turn my attention back to the recently resurrected boy.

"Who are these people?" He asks me, staring at them, openly horrified at these strangers. He feels overcrowded, clearly; he wants it just to be the two of us, alone, somewhere private, somewhere where he can just talk to me about what's going on. All these people are suffocating him.

"They're my…Employers." I say, not wanting to use the word 'friends' for any of them, except possibly Marcella, but even then I'm not too sure. I smile a little, before turning back to the vampoari, Marcella and Cindy. "Could you all um…Go?" I ask, trying not to just tell Cindy to 'get lost'. "You're overcrowding him, and that could have some negative effects. This is a scary new world, how would you like it if a tonne of people were just staring blankly at you?"

"She has a point," Valentino says, nodding. "We should go and wait by the car for them, bring him when you are ready Esther." The three vampoari disappear in true glamorous style, with a whoosh of air, and the boy looks stunned. Decha had picked Marcella up gracefully and carried her with him, Cindy is left standing there, appalled she didn't get this treatment.

"Go on then," I usher. "Bye Cindy!" I wave as she glares at me, as she storms off behind them and snigger a little, the boy extremely confused.

"Why is she so cruel to you?" He asks, "I cannot understand her, but her body language shows she dislikes you, why?"

"I don't know," I sigh and give his shoulder a little squeeze. "Maybe she's jealous, I don't think I'll ever know, she'll never tell me, I know that for sure." He laughs a little and shakes his head, earrings clinking as he does so.

"What is your name, blonde girl?" He looks at my hair. "No-one from my village had hair as light as yours, how is it so pale?" Two questions in a row, fun times.

"I'm Esther Bake, it means friendly, approachable and generous." I say and he nods to show me he understands, but he still looks extremely curious. "As for my hair, my mum is from Denmark. A lot of people from there have light blonde hair, so I inherited it from her I guess." He stares at me, wide eyed, and I realise he'd have never left Ireland. All this information must be so confusing for him.

"You certainly live up to your name Esther," he says, trying out my name like it's a foreign food in his mouth, as I try not to blush at his complement. "To me you seem friendly, approachable and generous. I am Lorcan, it means 'little fierce one'. I suppose I lived up to my name as well, Esther." He studies my face for a while, and I realise the inevitable is about to happen. My 'hidden beauty' will shine through. "You are beautiful, but a type of beauty I've never seen before. Is this because of where your mother is from?"

"Yes," I say, blushing immensely. I giggle like an idiot and he looks carefully at me, as I try to regain my composure. "Sorry!" I say quickly. "I just couldn't help myself. You certainly sound like you live up to your name too, Lorcan."

"Thank you," he nods and stands up, I hastily stand up next to him. "Where am I?"

"Carcey Vale," I say quickly. "You're still where you came from, only a lot has changed. No-one longer fights, there are schools where you can learn-"

"Demons?" He asks quickly. "Do the demons still haunt you?"

"No." I reply. "There are no demons." Lorcan simply looks amazed and studies his surroundings carefully, as if he's deciding where to go. I hold out my hand towards him, and he takes it. I smile shyly. "Come with me, I'm the only person who can understand you. Just come with me, back to the car."

"Car?" He asks innocently. "What is 'car'?"

"You'll see," I say with a smile, trying to suppress a small giggle. "You have a lot to learn, and I'll teach you. I promise."


	5. Life gets Awkward

**Disclaimer: Oops, I forgot on the last one. So this'll be a double disclaimer! I don't own Demonata, Darren Shan does, nor any of his characters (e.g. Grubbs, Bill-E or Lorcan). But I do own the vampoari, Esther, Violet, and all the other OC's who'll show up along the way.**

**A/N: Well, things are picking up now, aren't they! I wanted a romance, and literally read all the books in the space of three days to find someone for Esther. I couldn't make a suitable OC to be paired with Esther, so I went looking…Through **_**all ten**_** Demonata books! But I read them twice over, just to be sure, and for some reason Lorcan just stood out! I don't know what it was that made me think he'd go well with Esther, but something did. Maybe his direct approach opposed to her cautious one just seemed right to me? Meh. R&R please! And a **_**humongous**_** thanks to MarchFrostbite for being my first reviewer! I hope I get more, but I doubt it! Another massive thanks to everyone who's read this crappy fanfic-even if you haven't reviewed! Chapter 6 is coming soon. Over and out.**

Have I ever told you I hate the woods? I guess not. But for the sake of it, you should know that woodland areas unnerve me to a certain extent. With the teenage former warrior with me, I feel a lot safer, and have to resist the urge to pull him into a hug and thank him over and over, just for being here with me. Lorcan seems in total awe of everything he sees, even though we haven't got to the modern things yet. Being bought back to life brings a lot of shocks to anyone, even if they're simply in the woods. He's tugging at his numerous earrings excitedly like my sister gets at Christmas time as he takes in the woods with awe.

"It's all so pretty," he says breathlessly, staring up at the sky with wide eyes. I can't help but think, if this is what his reaction to the woods is like, I have no clue what he'll be like around the Pimp Mobile. He stares intently as a rabbit dashes past us, shooting back down into a burrow. "If I still had my sword I could catch that, skin it, and we could eat it."

"Oh no." I say, smiling quickly at him. "You don't have to do anything like that! Just, don't do anything _too _irrational, like try and kill someone if they insult you. It's illegal and you could go to prison." He looks at me, confused. Back in ancient Irish times, I'm guessing if someone called you a 'dickhead' you could skewer him quick-as-lightning and get away with it. "A lot has changed, Lorcan; there are a lot more rules and regulations about what you can and cannot do. And carrying weaponry, like a sword, unless you have permission, is illegal."

"Things were a lot simpler when I was born," he sighs. "There weren't all these laws on what you can and cannot do. The world seems so strict now." His earrings glint in the moonlight, and I wonder what boys of this day and age would think of them. "Are there rules on marriage too?" He asks me, still looking around the woods as he says it, not so much as glancing back at me.

"Yes," I say. "You can get married at sixteen with your parents' permission, but most people wait till their adults." Based on the little I know about Ancient Times, people got married at all sorts of ridiculous ages, and another, important question pops up in my mess of a mind. "Were you married?"

"No," he says with a laugh, shaking his head. "There were many girls in the tuath, but none of them were particularly interesting. I wished to run off and meet someone exotic, someone different. Things always get boring when they're just the same." His Irish accent makes every word he's saying sound exotic, special, different, unlike me with my plain Geordie accent which makes me sound loud, obnoxious and stupid. He looks at me, and grins mischievously. "If you had lived in the lands when I was first alive, I certainly would have married you."

Suddenly I'm thankful it's dark, and the middle of the night, so he can't see the redness as it creeps up my face, staining my cheeks scarlet and I feel my ears go hot. "Why me?" My voice comes out in a mouse's squeak, and again he turns back to look at me.

"You're different." He says several steps ahead of me; his longer legs give him a wider birth in which to walk, unlike my meek little scampers to keep up with him. "Everything about you is different, Esther. You're unusual heritage, which makes you beautiful, but in a way I've never seen before." My ears heat up, and I begin to nibble my lip-a nervous twitch of mine. "You interest me with the things you say. And besides, like I said, you're different to everyone I've ever met. I haven't met many people, but you stand out compared to your weird employers. You didn't just stare at me like I was an achievement or something, you were the only one who tried to help me, and you did. Like I said, you live up to your name."

I've been so caught up listening to him I've fallen behind and I have to run forwards to make sure I don't get left alone in the woods without him. My face is still flushed, but my ears are cooling and I hope my blush will fade away soon. I look up at him, and feel butterflies begin to well in my stomach. _Oh fuck! No, Esther, you cannot seriously be doing this_, I tell myself. _You are NOT getting a crush on the guy who you've been told to look after and who has just said would marry you_. But I am. I'm stubborn, even with myself, and I know there's not much point in me trying to tell myself to shut up and back down.

I don't know what it is about Lorcan that's made me attracted to him. Maybe it's his honesty, something men apparently lack. Or maybe it's just the way he seems to genuinely like me for me. And he's the first boy to ever notice my 'hidden beauty', maybe it's a sign. I shrug off my childish thoughts and smile to myself, looking down at the leaf coated earth, dwelling in my own happiness at what Lorcan had said to me. The first person ever to call me beautiful, and not in that sleazy 'I want to get in your pants' fashion.

"Although, I might not marry you," he continues, absentmindedly kicking bushes that are in his way.

"Huh?" I say, looking up at him, startled.

"My brother would've liked you too," he says, looking up at the moon, a look of somewhat disappointment evident on his youthful face. "And he was the elder of the two of us, so if he wanted you, he'd get you. Even if I liked you more. And I know I'd like you more." He sounds so determined it's cute, "But in the time I lived, the elder twin was given privileges."

"Well now it isn't like that." I say quickly. "I guess times have become fairer. Nowadays, if you both liked me, but I liked you more, you'd get to marry me." He stares at me, green eyes wide in amazement.

"Really?" He sounds even more excited at this. "I think I like these times," he says with a laugh and looks down at me. "I like them a lot." He looks back at me with another grin, this one even brighter than the last. "And seeing as this time has you in it, it is even better." The blush shoots back up my face, and I brush my hair back in front of my face again. "Are you okay?" He asks, looking at my hair.

"Oh yes. I'm fine!" I say quickly. He holds out one of his callous, bruised hands and I take it with my much softer one. He tightens his grip around my hand and pulls me closer towards him, grinning like a lunatic. I don't get how he walks through the woods in his boots and just a tunic, whilst I'm shivering in my dress, but I'm guessing he's used to the cold.

"Do the woods scare you?" He asks, and I nod in response. "They'll get less frightening the more time you spend in them! I loved the woods almost as much as I loved killing demons." I notice I'm moving a lot faster now my hand is linked with his. "And I loved swimming too; I was the best in the tuath." He sounds proud but I figure he's earned the right to be proud. "Do you like swimming Esther?"

"No," I sigh sadly. "I'm a little funny about water; I didn't have a bad experience with it or something along those lines, but…I've just never been good at it, and I don't think I ever will be." Lorcan stares at me, grin never slipping, not even once.

"I'll teach you," he offers me. "I'll teach you to swim, and if one of your fanged employers ever tries to hurt you, I'll protect you." He says confidently.

"You don't have to do that Lorcan." I say quickly. "They could hurt you, they could even _kill_ you."

"I've died once, death doesn't scare me." He says airily, grinning still at me. "Besides, you have promised to teach me the ways of your new world, so I owe you." I feel like I'm in his debt now, and before I can stop myself, I say something stupid.

"Well….Well when Marcella's taught me how to bring people back properly, not as zombies." I lick my lips carefully and smile at him. "I'll bring your brother back. We'll go to the site where he died and I'll bring him back for you. You're promising to protect me from powerful immortal beings, and all I'm doing is telling you the facts. I'll bring your brother back for you, I promise."

Lorcan's eyes light up like Christmas tree lights and he openly gawped at me, but it soon curved back into a smile, only this one was full of pure, clean happiness. "You'd do that?" He asks amazed. "You'd bring Ronan back for me?" I nod nervously, unsure of his response. He pulls me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head, lifting me off the ground. "You really do live up to your name." I blush all over again and he laughs sweetly. "Your parents were wise calling you Esther."

"Your parents were wise calling you Lorcan." I reply, smiling a little myself. "You sound extremely brave." I said and he looked at me in such a way, I wondered if he was blushing himself. "And I bet you are."

"Well isn't that sweet!" An unfamiliar voice calls from the trees-_not this again_. Lorcan bristles, his body going tense, as if he's wondering whether this is an ambush. I look in the direction of the voice, and am greeted by a peculiar sight. A boy, no more than fifteen, stands by the trees; his skin is a little tanned, like he's spent a limited amount of time in a hot climate, but not that much. His hair's dark, and fairly straight, with matching dark eyes. He's dressed in a silken plum shirt and dark jeans, with brown walking boots. A smug smile is plastered on his lips.

But odder still is the silhouette next to him, a female figure. She's dressed entirely in black, like a widow at a funeral; she even has a lacy vale trailed over her face, covering it. Long, velvet gloves cover her hands; a long, sweeping dress, and stiletto heels are on her feet. I can see her neck, and her skin is pure white. Power seeps over me in an all too familiar fashion, trying to peel back the layers behind my mind, but failing. She's only a little over a hundred and fifty; nowhere near powerful enough to strip my mind.

Gloved fists clench and I do my best not to smirk, she's frustrated that she isn't getting into my mind. Still not deterred, she looks carefully at Lorcan and I can tell she's now the one who is smirking. "I heard of Marcella LaGuarda's powers, but this is certainly impressive. How long have you been dead little boy?" Her voice is heavily accent European, and she sounds Austrian, or maybe Hungarian.

Lorcan tenses and looks uncomfortable, shivering violently, as if he's in the middle of a nightmare. It's frightening to see him so shaken by her words, and I don't know how he's going to take this, so I decide to step in for him. "None of your business," I snap sharply. "What do you want?"

The vampoari flinches and her human boyfriend looks unsure of my attitude towards them. Did I just hurt her feelings? A vampoari? Brownie point for me. The boy places her hands on his hips and pouts slightly, and I'm beginning to think he's more her gay helper than boyfriend. "I don't think the question as directed at you, _bitch_." The insult comes out more as a hiss, and I see Lorcan's fists clench. I don't know if he can understand the boy, but he certainly recognises an insult when he hears one. "So, I'll ask again. How long have you been dead gorgeous?" _Yep, definitely gay_, is all I can think.

"Crispin," the vampoari hisses at the bitchy gay guy. "She is much more powerful than you, even now, so shut your goddamn mouth!" Crispin's eyes go wide and he looks like a fish at this. "They clearly aren't answering so we must come back later. Goodbye." She says in her thick accent and quick as they arrived, they've gone again, but I don't feel safe.

"What was that?" Lorcan asks, confused. "What did they want?" The young warrior clearly doesn't know much outside fighting and being a boy, and is looking at me like a worried puppy.

"I don't know," I say shakily. "I don't get it. They appear for less than five minutes, insult me, ask you one question, and then decide we're too much trouble. Weird." I shiver but realise we're close to the car and look at him, smiling weakly. "Come on, we need to go."

"Why?" He asks, confused. "Won't we sleep out in the woods, under the stars?" I giggle at his confusion and his face creases into one of plain uncertainty.

"No, you'll come back to my house." I tell him, causing him to smile warmly.

"Brilliant," he says. "Then I can protect you from those bizarre people, and teach you how to swim. I hope you do not mind cold water too much, but you'll get used to it." Then something hits me, smack, bang in the middle of the forehead.

"Do you swim naked?" I ask, feeling extremely unsure of myself.

"Yes," he replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Don't you? I hope you won't mind too much about being naked around me?" My eyes pop, and I look at him, completely shocked at what he's just said to me. "What?" He asks naively. "Don't you swim naked?"

"Um…No." I say, shaking my head at the same time. "I have a swimming costume. They were made so you could cover yourself up whilst swimming so you don't get ill if the water's too cold." I explain after he opens his mouth to ask 'why'.

"How interesting." He says, but looks uninterested in getting one. "I don't find any water too cold, I don't think I'll ever want to have one. Swimming is a natural thing; I don't think it should be spoiled by fancy clothing items, Esther." And that was the end of it. I had a feeling he'd be impossible to persuade to wear one, so I decided pressing him would be futile. A good motto of mine. "Why don't we go swimming now?" He's looking _extremely_ interested at the prospect of swimming now. Pervert.

"I don't think that's a good idea…" I start to say but know I'm getting nowhere in trying to disinterest him in going swimming. And he's looking at me in that way that means he's going to whine and bitch until I give into letting him go swimming, without we me or not. But it definitely has to be with me, or else he could get lost or something could happen and I wouldn't be there, and I'd hate it if he got hurt. "Fine, we'll go swimming!" I say impatiently. "Where though?"

"There's water nearby," he says, looking excited. "I can hear it." Wow, he must have sharp ears. He grabs hold of my hand and begins walking forwards briskly, dying to get in the water as much as I'm dying to get out of these woods. His earrings made a small 'CHINK' in the moonlight at the pace he's walking and I can't help but stare at them as we walk. He turns round as if he can tell I'm in awe looking at his earrings. "Like them?" He asks. "They were in fashion."

"How did you even pierce them?" I ask, and I have a feeling I'm not going to like his answer.

"Would you really like to know?"

"Not really…" I squeak, feeling my stomach churn at the possibilities of how he got the holes in his ears, for the earrings to loop through.

"Then I won't tell you." He says, grinning at me; how does he keep up that smile? "Unless you decide you suddenly wish to know." I shake my head quickly and he grins, but not maliciously, which really gets me. Most boys would relish in my horror, not him, and he's from times when fighting bloodthirsty demons was a daily routine. "I'm guessing most men in your times don't have piercings like mine?"

"Some do…" I say after some consideration. "But none like yours, but they suit you." I say, smiling shyly like I always do when I get a crush on someone. Only this is extremely stronger; I feel almost ill, a sick feeling pitting in my stomach, and dizziness mounting in my head. Is this love? _Don't be stupid_, I tell myself. _Love __never __comes on this quickly, and if it has, then __NO__. What if he doesn't love you back? And there's tonnes of people he's going meet now he's come back to life, there's always someone prettier, smarter, and generally better than you, so never forget it_.

"Here!" Lorcan sounds ecstatic, oh shit. _WATER_. It glimmers a deep blackish-blue in the low light, moving with gentle waves occasionally peaking the surface, but as for that it's almost statue still. It'd probably look a turquoise colour in the day time, due to its position in the outer areas, but for some reason it glints blue in the moonlight. All water seems to do that. Lorcan looks at me, grinning excitedly.

"You first…" I say, gesturing to the lake, still unsure about getting into the water. He shrugs as if this is completely normal, and I have a feeling it is. Without saying another word, Lorcan undresses quickly, and then dives in the water, ignoring its probable freezing temperature. True, he didn't have much to take off, and only his earrings remain as he swims in the water, looking totally at ease in the water, swimming like a fish. I stand awkwardly on the doc, shivering slightly. As if sensing my reluctance, Lorcan turns around and stares up at me, curious why I don't share his enthusiasm.

"Aren't you getting in?" He asks. "If you want to learn how to swim, you need to get in the water."

Swallowing back my doubts, I force myself to smile. "Give me a second," I say, turning around so I'm not facing him. Here we go. Undoing the back of my dress, I slip it down to my ankles, and step out of it. The freezing air lashes at my skin, and goose pimples begin to form like normal; I take off my shoes, and stand there in my underwear, shivering. I turn around, and flush crimson. Lorcan's staring at me with wide, shining eyes, in total awe of me. I quickly clasp my hands over my front, smiling awkwardly.

"You're beautiful," he says, his voice total honesty, which makes things painfully more awkward. "I don't get why you decide to wear that weird outfit over your body, I think you'd look much prettier out of it." I go such a reddish colour he can see it, even in the low light. He laughs, grinning like he's pleased at my reaction, and I decide just to get in the water to shut him up.

Slipping my legs over the edge of the doc, I ease myself in the water. And try not to shriek at the coldness. Lorcan just grins at me, little drops of water coming of his head in a coppery colour, and I realise blood must be rubbed deeply into his scalp, like a thick layer of red dandruff. _YUCK_. He grins at me like a kid at Christmas and swims towards me, as natural in the water as a fish, till we're almost touching. Water was seeping through my thin, indigo matching bra and knickers, and I was shivering violently. Lorcan looked at me like my behaviour confused him.

"Are you cold?" He asks, putting his hands on my shoulders, making me jump out of my skin. "You're shaking."

"Yeah…I'm cold," I say, gritting my teeth tight together. Lorcan opens his arms as if to hug me and I'm in turmoil on what to do. Hugging him back could make things _really_ awkward, but I'm _so fucking cold_. I look up at him, and both of us literally seem to freeze where we are. Besides, I'm still shaken by the random pop-up appearance of Crispin, and his widow-dressed mistress. _What the hell did they want? Why did they show up, only to disappear after I said a few rude words to them?_ I know neither of them are too powerful, but why'd the retreat so easily? So freely. But I try to push the bizarre creepers to the back of my mind and come back into the real world. And jump out my skin _again_.

He's so close his chest is pressed up against mine, the skin contact giving me goose pimples of a whole new kind. I feel myself stiffen and my stomach clench, my breath coming out in short, shivering gasps. Part due to the freezing water, partly due to the amount of tension in the situation. Sexual tension. I feel my lips tingling like they're emitting electromagnetic pulses, and the two of us stare at each other, unsure what to do. I look up at Lorcan and see his own body has gone tense, and his nipples have hardened. He leans down so our lips are an inch away from each other, and I swallow, preparing myself for what's coming next.

But I chicken out, like usual in these situations; I take step back and smile awkwardly at him. He looks confused for a few seconds, as if the lightest of skin contact naturally means we must have sex, but it fades when he realises neither of us are really ready. Besides, we've only just met; sex would make things a dozen times more awkward-at least for me. Something tells me Lorcan could just brush it off, but I'm not _him_, I can't brush these things off. I'll fuss and faff and think about it forever, never able to get it out of my head, having it constantly replay, over and over, like a video that's stuck.

Even if I still lived with my parents, I couldn't talk to them about this; my parents meant best but they never understood me. I think finding out I'm a necromancer will only distance me more from them. I know _they_ love _me_, and _I_ love _them_, but that's not the same as feeling comfortable to tell them all my secrets and ask them questions about every single topic in the world. And when it comes to relationships, I'm totally stuck in between a rock and a hard place. No-one to turn to, no-one to talk to, all alone practically.

Maybe Marcella will understand? But even with her I'm not too sure. I barely know the woman, and now I'm excepted to live with her. Who the fuck is deciding the way my life is going? San Valentino? The 'pearly beauty'? The 'power'? One of their other little friends. Is there any vampoari higher ranking than them calling the shots? So many questions but no-one to answer any of them.

Time to get out of here.


	6. Everything Gets R-E-A-L

**Disclaimer: You know the drill!**

**A/N: Sorry this took so long people! **** I've had a little writer's block, so this chapter came out shorter than I wanted, but I guess I'll have to live with it. A massive thank you to TheMortition! I'm sure Esther would love to marry you if you existed in her universe! Although, I think San Valentino and our newly resurrected Lorcan might have a few things to say about that.**

I hated myself for being so naively stupid. I mean, I've done some pretty stupid shit before, but I think the events that happened only about twenty minutes ago topped them all off. It was a pretty good job that Lorcan hadn't been raised in the same era as me, or things would be twice as awkward for us both. I don't know what I felt back then, but all I know is that it was powerful. _Too_ powerful. And powerful emotions like that scare me to be honest with you. I can feel my throat tightening and feel incapable of saying anything, even after twenty minutes of running the scenario over and over in my head.

Lorcan is beautifully oblivious to the awkwardness and I like it that way. It was better to leave him to his own thoughts of how to get his head around the new world than bring up the awkward thing that almost happened between us. On pure impulse, I take hold of his hand, smiling a little to myself; I feel his fingers link with my own, and a jellybean pink blush shoots across my face.

I can hear the sound of the vampoari talking, even from here, and pull my hand away quick as lightning, as if an electrical voltage has shot from his hand, to my hand, and up my arm. He jumps like he's been hit by lightning too and stares at me, a mixture of bewilderment and hurt painted across his stubbly face. The two of us stop walking and stare at each other, guilt making my throat get even dryer, so dry it hurts to swallow, and beads of perspiration begin to form on my forehead. A cold sweat, oh joy, cold sweats make me even more uncomfortable than most other forms of sweat. I feel it trickling down the back of my neck, down my bad, underneath my expensive dress and shiver.

"You haven't do anything wrong!" I say quickly as he opens his mouth. "It's just…I don't want people to get the wrong idea." Droplets of water are still drip, drip dripping off the ends of my hair, splashing almost silently against the forest floor below us. My hair is still wet, but his much shorter is already beginning to dry. I pick up a lock and swing it round the other side of my shoulder, so it's in front of my face, dripping more water down my cleavage. Luckily he doesn't notice this.

"What idea?" He asks, his voice totally innocent again, almost shy, totally adorable.

"We're friends…" I say, my smile kind-maybe a little patronizing, which I hate. He seems to detect that and gives me a severely unimpressed look. "Okay! Sorry, didn't mean to be all patronizing!" I say quickly, backtracking so he isn't hurt. "But…If we hold hands, it looks like we're…Involved. Like, in a relationship, boyfriend and girlfriend terms." His facial features soften and he cocks his head to the side, as if trying to figure out everything, but he does it quickly because he nods his face calm. "Something could happen, maybe…" I mumble, blushing even more. Lorcan's face breaks into a smile, glinting almost as brightly as his earrings, which are captivating when the moonlight hits them.

"I'll keep that in mind," He says, and I feel my jellybean pink face drop into crimson, as the blood surges back again. He looks like he wants to take hold of my hand again, but he doesn't-knowing what I've said, and I silently thank him for it. He's such a contrast to other boys, a lovely contrast, and I figure although women weren't perceived as equals in ancient times, men had to treat them with at least a certain amount of respect.

After shooting me a quick, beautiful grin, he walks forwards, his pace even quicker than usual and walks through the large amount of greenery at the edge of the forest, only to stop dead. A car. A new, gigantic, smack in the face for him. His eyes are shiny, like he's in a state of euphoric high, and his mouth is wide open, gawping at the car like he's in Heaven or some similar place. His entire body's gone still; muscles frozen in place, the vampoari are looking at him. Half-curious, half-amused.

"You're little friends' reactions are nothin' short of adorable Esther," Valentino is the first to speak. "He'll _certainly_ keep me entertained." I felt myself bristle and my fists balled, my raven like eyes turning into a mirror image of the bird they remind people of, and I glower.

"You will not so much as breathe in his direction, or I'll nail you in a coffin quicker than you can bite me!" All the vampoari stare at me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth. Not in fear, but I've just realised something totally shocking. I've been in Carcey Vale for under a month, and already I've found out I can raise dead people, have to look after a boy older than me, from ancient times, and work for a bunch of bloodthirsty creatures. _Ho-ly_ fuck! This is like some insane dream, I shouldn't be doing this. I should be worrying about GCSE's and dating, not vampoari-creatures and making sure my new friend/responsibility doesn't accidentally-on-purposely kill someone for giving him a judgemental look.

Part of me is now beginning I could be more normal, but the rest of me isn't. Part of me loves the excitement, the adventure, the sense of intrigue, my powers; it's all like some amazing series. And I'm the lead! I suddenly feel important, and that feeling is frightening, but also wonderful. I love-hate this feeling both at the same time. It's the oddest sensation I've ever felt, but one of the best-worst too! But the edginess of the overly bitchy Crispin and his odd, veiled, anonymous companion is still making my skin prickle. Should I bring him up?

I have no idea how long I've been thinking when San Valentino grabs hold of my windpipe, slamming my into one of the trees, his face stony with rage. I can feel the air sucking out of my lungs as he puts his mouth very close to my ear. I can feel my body shaking. "Do not, ever, talk to me like that again young madam." He hisses, fangs inches away from my skin, and I swallow back my pride, nodding meekly.

"Valentino!" Beauté hisses, her face flushed with anger, making her look almost human. "_Let. Her. Go_. She was just doing what she was told," she puts her hands on her hips, and her own fangs are bared, snarling almost silently. "The boy is her responsibility! She can talk to you like that about him and that only." Valentino sucks his fangs back in, sulkily, and backs away from me.

"Um…Ma'am?" I asked, trying to keep a lid on my temper. Beauté looks up at me, nodding, a look of interest on her face. "Something really…Well, weird happened on the way back here."

"What?" She asks urgently.

"I met this vampoari woman in a black widow type outfit, and a flamboyant guy named Crispin who called me a 'bitch', on for the vampoari to tell me that they were sorry and disappear." For the first time I'd seen it, Beauté Nacré's face showed signs of worry, not quiet fear, but close enough-as if the name and descriptions meant something to her. The 'pearly beauty' shares a meaningful look with Decha who nods, as if he too knows what's going on, and even the sulking San Valentino acknowledges something big is happening. Something bad.

"Can you please explain what's going on?" I ask hurriedly. "I may not be too experienced in your world yet, but I know bad things might happen when people act like this. All funny looks and meaningful stares." Another quick exchange of glances between the vampoari, giving me a chance to check on how Lorcan's doing. The teenage warrior is rooted to the spot, staring at the car like it's his Christmas present; I touch his arm briefly, and he jolts awake, eyes hazy like he's been in a dream. I smile reassuringly at him, feeling Cindy's glowering eyes on me. Someone's jealous.

After a few looks, it's 'the power' aka Decha who decides I should know why they've all gone so quiet. "Crispin Michaels, the flamboyant little faggot you met in the woods, is a necromancer who works for a particularly cruel vampoari named 'Serse Ripper'. 'Serse' translates into 'heart' in Polish, so he is literally the heart ripper." I swallowed, staring, eyes wide with horror. "He works with an as equally cruel, but perhaps more conceited vampoari named Ingrid Westerhousen," he pronounced the 'w' as a 'v' and I guessed Ingrid must be German. "He has a considerable sized following of about 8 others. The one you saw with Crispin is Yvetta, she isn't too old."

"Yes," I agree. "I only read her as peaking 150 at the most, she isn't too powerful, and I think she guessed I sensed it, which is why she backed off. If Serce Ripper or Ingrid had been sent, they probably would've pressed."

"Exactly," Decha nods at me. "Maybe Serse was just being arrogant, but the point is, Yvetta made Crispin her human servant when she herself had only been one of us for about 70 years. But after all that time on earth, Crispin's powers haven't improved by any factor." He sniffs, obviously unimpressed by the bitchy boys none improving abilities. "He's grown lazy, and it very much shows. He no longer practices, yet he expects to be extremely powerful, arrogant little shit." He hisses, fangs shooting out.

Beauté Nacré places one delicately manicured hand on his shoulder and pats it gently. "Getting angry at the idiot child does not do anything for us," she sighs, clearly bored. "Let us leave this place before Monsieur Grady realises of our presence and comes out to find us."

"I thought we were allowed on here?" I ask her, feeling extremely worried now.

"Only as long as Marcella was raising the experiment," I hated her for calling Lorcan an 'experiment' but didn't voice my opinions; I'd already angered one vampoari tonight. Beauté Nacré might as well eat my internal organs if I insulted her. "Now we _are_ trespassing, so, we must leave." And with that, she somehow manages to look stepping into the Pimp Mobile, look elegant. This time she gets in the front, next to the unseen driver, alongside Decha (who politely bows at me. _True gentleman_), and San Valentino (who flashes a fangy grin. _Smug little asshole._).

Lorcan stares at me with wonder and amazement. "Come on," I say. "It won't bite." Cindy looks eager to step forward and talk to him, but knows he can't understand her; so she just stares like a love-struck puppy. Lorcan, however, is oblivious to this and just walks past her, getting into the back. I walk past her, flashing her a quick, sickeningly sugary smile, and get in, sitting next to him. Marcella sits opposite us, looking ill, but still warm and gentle as ever.

"Your hair is wet," she notes, gesturing at me.

"We went swimming," is all I can say to respond. "I can't swim to save my life, and Lorcan offered to teach me. Simple I guess." Marcella smiles warmly at us, leaning into the seat as Cindy sits next to her, glowering. "Do you need to rest?" I ask her.

"Yes, Niña," she sighs, almost painfully. "The illness grows faster every day, I do not have much time to teach you all I know, we will have to work extra hard." I nod at her, aware that 'extra hard' means I'm going to be under a mountain of stress and pressure, but I think I can manage it, if I try my hardest. As I think this, Marcella gently lies back against the seat, closes her eyes, and I can tell she's falling asleep. A much earned rest for the powerful voodoo woman.

Lorcan is staring directly ahead at Cindy, who's making lovesick eyes at him, although the young warriors face shows all the signs of confusion and bewilderment, before turning to me. "Why is that girl dressed so awfully? She looks ridiculous." I have to suppress a laugh at his insulting of Cindy, which makes him look even more confused.

"The fashionally retarded think it looks good," I explain. "Cynthia is one of those people."

"Cynthia…" Lorcan try's out her name too. "Do you know what Cynthia means?"

"No, sorry," is all I can say. "Hopefully it means 'jealous deceitful cow'." Lorcan stares at me, looking twice as confused as before, as if to say 'why's that?' "Tell you later," I promise, smiling at him; he smiles back, earrings jangling as he leans back into the velvet material behind him, enjoying the soft sensation on his deeply weathered skin.

"Who makes this?" He asks, his voice almost a whisper. "It's amazing!" He looks like he's in heaven, or the closest thing to it. "There was nothing like this when I was first alive! It's wonderful!" If this is his response to velvet, I wonder what he'll think of stuff like television. But one thing at a time. I can only cope with so much hyperactivity in one day. I shake my head and shrug.

"Can't give you an answer there sorry," Lorcan simply shrugs at my answer and proceeds to stare out the Pimp Mobiles blacked out window, taking in his new environment. Every once in a while, his eyes would go wide and he'd look like a kid at Christmas, but he remained silent. Simply staring out of the window, into the night.

The journey was taking longer than I'd originally anticipated. We'd been on the road for at least an hour; I'd asked Decha myself and he'd told me. It made me wonder where Marcella lived, but the car kept stopping, so I figured we had places to go. Those places' identities however, I was unsure of.

Marcella has finally awoken from a long rest and is staring between the two of us, a soft smile on her lips, but I can't place where it'd originated from. Maybe she finds our relationship 'cute' or something like that. I pray she doesn't think something had happened during our swimming trip; that will just make another relationship of mine awkward. Besides, I have questions to ask about the 'heart ripper' and his subordinate, Miss Westerhousen, and what their agenda with us (more specifically me) was.

"So um…" I clear my throat and immediately feel Marcella, Lorcan and Cindy looking at me. I am beginning to despise my translation powers; it means everyone knows what I'm saying, and I can't have any privacy from any of them. Life's a bitch, big time. "Is there anything else on Serse that I should know? Seeing as I'm kind of the prize everyone's fighting over…"

Marcella laughs weakly but her face goes earnest in a split second. "The polish Heart Ripper works for a powerful being…" She pauses to cough weakly, leaning back against her seat as if she's trying to let it consume her. "A hag." The pause clearly means I should be shocked but I have no clue what a hag is. "Old, powerful, vicious little beings…" She says the words like a bitter taste. "Only one left. A being called Moroven du Sang Contaminé , it means 'of dirty blood' in French. Over a million years old. Born somewhere in what is now France-explaining the name. And she has a whole array of cronies." Another weak cough. "From a witch shapeshifter to a child rapist vampoari." I feel my skin break into a fresh rash of goosebumps.

"Interesting crowd he hangs around with…" Is all I can bring myself to mutter? _A witch shapeshifter and a paedophile vampire? GREAT… _"Will I have to fight them?" I ask cautiously. Of course I get the negative answer.

"Probably," Marcella sighs, propping herself up with several pillows she must have bought with her. "If you continue to refuse their invitation; Serse will see no other option but to take you by force. Which means a fight will happen, and many people will die." I feel another weight slamming down on my shoulders, pressing itself down suffocating, as if the more of my bones and will it breaks, the better.

I glance nervously at Lorcan, wondering what the young warriors response will be if a war broke out between us and Serse Ripper. I have a horrible niggle the young warrior's response will be that of violence. Especially because Serse is showing so much interest in me, it'll be a giant miracle if he doesn't go directly for me, and if he dares, Lorcan will live up to his promise. He'll fight to the end for me. Most women find bollocks like this 'romantic' or 'heart-warming' but I find it a guilt trip that will never fade. Having some die for you isn't glamorous or romantic; it's an everlasting guilt that _you _should be the dead one. Not them.

"Do not worry about the boy," Marcella ushers, making me look at her and away from Lorcan. "I understand your fears, but they are unnecessary. I will ensure the boy doesn't harm anyone or himself whilst you attend school to get your education."

"Won't he attend school?" I ask her, feeling confused on why Lorcan isn't going to get an education. "He'll need to learn about the world, it's changed so much, school's the only place that-"

"No." Marcella interrupts me and I stare at her, wide-eyed. "He is not going to be able to convey to society. He is from such an alien time to now; he'd only get himself in trouble. Last time I checked with your generation, earrings for boys weren't too in fashion, and if another boy made a comment about them…I'm sure you've guessed his reaction would be that to beat the commenter senseless." All I can do is nod. "So he'll stay at home with me, I'll teach him how to speak English, and about the world, whilst you get your education."

The car draws to a hault and she looks at me again, as if telling me I can get out. "What is his name, niña?" She asks as I lean across Lorcan to open the door.

"Lorcan," I say, and yours truly looks at me, obviously interested now that his names been mentioned. "I don't have a surname." I shoot him a shy, somewhat nervous smile. "I just need to tell Marcella your name, nothing too scary or bad." I step over him, careful not to stand on him, and open the Pimp Mobile's door, stepping onto a rash of grey gravel stones, leading up a driveway to a house. _Wow_. It's extremely impressive.

Marcella's house is as large as an American sorority or fraternity type place. Made out of some expensive looking stone, I can't place the type of. Maybe granite, maybe lime, I can't be certain. All I know is it must've cost an arm and a leg to build this place. There is a nice porch made of new white wood that goes well, with several hanging flower baskets littering it, lilies sticking out of them. I wonder if Marcella had had kids who'd lived here, explaining the largeness of the house.

I look back into the car and hold my hand out to Lorcan who takes it, stepping out of the car, looking at the house with a mesmerised gleam in his eyes. I stare at Marcella, who simply hands me a pair of keys, which I proceed to gawp at dumbly. "Aren't you coming with us?" I ask her, voice weak with confusion.

"I need to go to your house and collect your things," she replies weakly. "Well, the vampoari will collect them, but I'll be the one to explain the situation to your parents. I have several spare rooms, chose one of your liking. And it'd be best if Lorcan stayed in your room tonight."

"What…" I gawp at her, clearly exasperated and horrified. Sure, I've accepted babysitter duty, but letting a male _SLEEP IN MY BED_? No. I am definitely not comfortable with that. "He…He can't."

"I'm afraid it's the only way he can settle in, and there is no way he would sleep in my bed."

"But…" And that's when I get stuck; I have no actual reason to argue against her idea. Sure I'd be _incredibly uncomfortable_, but that's no _real_ reason to say no. "That just isn't _normal_!" Is the only thing I can bring myself to use as an argument. And it's a spectacularly awful one at that. "It'll make things awkward!"

"Awkwardness is simply something we need to come," Marcella replies simply. _You make it sound so simple_, my mind hisses bitterly, but I try and ignore it. Combined with the events that happened at the lake earlier this evening, or maybe morning, I have no clue of the time-things might just go into overdrive. I have no clue what signals that might set off for either of us. But I have no real argument, no actual, definitive reason for him not to sleep in my bed, so I have to agree.

"If he touches me somewhere I don't like though, he's on the floor." I add, causing Marcella to laugh-a warm, gentle sound that immediately makes me like her even more. She's like a sweet old grandmother.

"I hope you have a peaceful night's sleep, niña," is all she replies with. "If anything happened to do with Serse Ripper, or his friends, call _Fangs Out_-the club our undead friends run, it's on speed dial on my phone." I nod, to show I understand. "My son, Paolo, might pop by in the morning. He knows you are due to arrive, and he won't disturb you. He might have his son, Fernando, with him."

"Okay," I say with a small smile. "I promise I'll be polite as possible. Is it okay if I use your phone to ring my friend, Violet? She might be worried about me."

"Of course," Marcella smiles back, and then shuts the car door as the Pimp Mobile heads off into the night.

Lorcan and I stare briefly at each other. "Well…" I say with an awkward smile. "Let's go in, shall we?" Part of me is dying to have a shower, but I decide to do that in the morning, if he's still asleep. I don't want something even more awkward to happen. Lorcan simply nods, and we make our way across the gravel, and up the steps, facing the front door.

Part of me doesn't want to unlock the door, part of me wants to run back home, demand to stay, but it isn't my choice. Not anymore.

**Ah! Awkwardness! How do I live without you every second of the day?**


	7. I Marry an Asshole

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except any OCs or creatures that aren't in the books!**

**A/N: Sorry about the wait guys! I hope you don't hate me too much for the month I've been gone! Major writers block has been plaguing me and I've been fighting with it for some time, but here it is, I would never abandon you guys! A massive thank you to TheMortition, MarchFrostbite and **** .18062 for reviewing! It's people like you who keep me going! **** And as for you, Mortition, because you love San Valentino so much, here, have him! *Throws San Valentino at you* I don't think he'll bite!**

The room feels cramped with the two of us in it together, his back to mine as I stare into the room's almost haunting darkness. It envelops every corner, caresses the shelves, the window sills, the walls, the bed, even me. The darkness curls it's black, long, slender fingers around my still dressed figure, covering pretty much all of me. Except my face, most of my hair, and my legs, they're under the covers; safe and protected from its endless reach. Part of me wants to reach out and check if he's still awake, seek some sort of comfort in the ever fading light that creeps through the closed curtains, but I don't want to wake him up. I'm deciding to be less selfish than I could be by waking him up just because I'm having sleeping issues.

I'd wrapped my arms tightly around myself, and can now feel my back pressed against his, only I'm still not too tall next to him. I'm 5'7 in height, but compared to him, I'm an oompa-loompa. And that's saying something entirely new to me. I'm taller than most of my newly acquired friends, minus Grubbs Grady and Loch Gossel, and I tower above Violet, so this new sensation is odd for me. It's probably the close body contact which makes the situation odder though; around Grubbs we never hugged, because we'd only just met, we never even really stood shoulder-to-shoulder next to another, so I never got the full picture of the difference. But now? He just seems so much imposing than before, so much more dangerous. Sure, a guy who used to kill demons for somewhat of a living is never bound to be anything less than, but I've never had him this close to me. Apart from when we were swimming but I don't want to recall that memory thank you very much.

The room isn't too spectacular, but I haven't been able to personalise it yet. The walls are painted a simplistic light blue, with nothing for proper decoration; spare a few shelves and the odd picture of a vase of flowers mounted on the wall. A large wardrobe sits in the corner, and I felt like I was staring at me when I first climbed into bed, and it still is. It makes me feel so uncomfortable.

I rang Violet about five minutes after I got in, and ran her through what had gone on; she was a little shocked at first, but agreed not to inform her family, or the police could get involved. At the moment, the police would just throw everything into complete and utter chaos, turning my world upside down even more than it already had shifted. Lorcan's fire engine red hair burns like flames in the light whenever it casts upon it, his earrings twinkling to match; I don't get how he can sleep so soundly in a strange new time, in a strange new house, while I can't, and I'm supposed to be used to this world. Naturally, at first he was mystified at the concept of sleeping in a bed with clean sheets, but he'd settled down quickly. I guess being resurrected by a Voodoo Priestess is tiring to anyone. The clock flashes 4:29 AM in bright red digital numerical, my matching red phone sitting obediently next to it.

My hand reaches out and gingerly picks it up, snapping it open, and clicking onto my contacts. My contact list is next to nothing-mum, dad, home phone, Grubbs, and Violet are the only numbers I think I'll ever need to call for actual reason. The minute I reach Violet's name, I click on it, and click on the 'write message' button in the right hand corner. I can't text for toffee, so it takes me a good ten minutes to actually compose the message I wish to send to Violet. It's a simple message, giving her a basic update on the recent events this night has brought forth for me. During my original call to her, I could sense the scepticism in her voice, but as the conversation dragged on, I knew she realised I wasn't playing a game. I was serious.

Sighing, I snap my phone shut, and lie flat on my back. My eyes stare up at the ceiling, taking in the bland, uninteresting view.

"Can't sleep?" I jump, screaming a little as I do so and almost fall straight off the bed. Lorcan was staring down at me, propped up on his side, looking at me intently. "Why?"

"Um…" Is my amazing response, but I quickly pull myself together. "I guess it's weird sleeping in a bed with someone of the opposite gender. It's another thing that isn't too normal nowadays. A lots changed in the social aspect of life too…" I trail off, unsure how to explain relationships these days to him. His response is to just shrug and lay flat on his back again, staring up at the ceiling just like I had, his face devoided of all emotion except one. Thoughtfulness. "Sorry…" I mumble, unsure if I've offended him.

"Why do you apologize?" He asks me, "You have done nothing wrong as far as I'm concerned."

"Uh…" Is the brilliant response I can muster as I desperately try and process a question I could ask him. Something that would let me know him a little better; or at least get an even better picture of what his first life had been like. "What was an average day like for you then?" I mentally curse, but it doesn't sound half as awkward to him as it did to me.

"A lot different from yours probably," I hear him laugh almost silently under his breath, "I spent most of my time fighting demons or training how to fight demons with my brother. But I guess I'll tell you about my life before the demons," he turns over so he's leaning on his side again, and smiles at me. "If you wish?"

"Sure…" I shrug, trying my best to pretend to not be dying to know about his life before he died.

"I was one of three children, considered small in our time; I guess I was the second child because my twin brother, Ronan, was older than me buy a couple of minutes. I had a younger brother too, his name was Ere…" Judging by the way he trails off, I know I'm not going to like what he says. "And he died. Demons killed him several months after the amount of attacks increased. My mother was inconsolable; my father just worked and killed demons, until he died too, killed by the same creatures that murdered my innocent brother. That just left me, my mother and Ronan."

"I'm sorry…" Is all I can muster myself to stay as I look up at him, my eyes slightly shiny with tears that I'm desperately trying to force back down. I don't want to cry for him, it feels rude and like I understand what he went through when in reality I have no clue.

"Don't apologize, Esther," he shrugs and rolls back so he's facing the ceiling. "You were not the Formori who took both my father and Ere." _Huh…That doesn't make sense. I swore his twin brother fought demons to…_

"What about Ronan?" I ask, trying to keep my voice gentle and calm, not patronizing and nosy.

"Demons didn't kill him." The change in Lorcan's tone almost shocks me; it's cold, like ice, and his face has switched from worried and almost tearful to stony and hard. "A coward did…." He swallows, and I now he's forcing back tears from falling. "In our tuath, we had a king, his name was Conn. Conn had one soon, whose name was Connla." The way he says the name of the kings son, I know this is exactly who killed his brother. People often change their tone when talking about someone they hate or who caused them great pain. It always goes a blistering cold, so cold you feel your skin prickle a little. "One day, a strange boy came to our tuath; he could run faster than any human I've ever seen, but he was a simpleton who couldn't even remember his own name. Several members of the tuath, Goll, our former, one-eyed king; Fiachna, our blacksmith; Bec, a young priestess; Orna, a refugee we'd received who was a female warrior; Connla…" The murder of his brother's name comes out in an icy hiss. "My brother and I went."

"Where did you go?" I ask him, trying to get his mind off Connla, whoever he was.

"Nowhere in particular." Lorcan sighs. "Conn sent us to see if we could find other refugees, people to aid our crusade to rid the land of the Formorii. Along the way we met a priest named Drust; a cowardly magician who used his power and cleverness to manipulate us. And we also met a demon…Lord Loss. A powerful demon, non like me nor my brother had ever seen before; he controlled the others of his kind and could speak in our language. It was frightening. We insulted him and he placed a geis, a curse, upon us all. And one by one we began to die. Orna was eaten alive by the reanimated corpses of her children; Fiachna was poisoned by powder Lord Loss provided Connla, and Ronan…" He swallows tightly, scrunching his eyes tight shut. "He was pushed off the Cliffs of Moher…By Connla, who then went on to lie that it was demons. Only to admit it, and mock me whilst he did so…"

"You can stop now." I say quickly, pushing myself upwards with my arms and sitting cross legged on the bed. "I won't force you to carry on…" I gently place my hand on his arm and he looks at me, our eyes meeting all over again and my stomach twists. "I'm sorry about your brothers and father; and I'm sorry about your friends too." I try and keep my tone at a non-patronizing level, and I think I'm succeeding. "The only thing I guess we can say is good is Connla isn't coming back." I smile meekly at him, trying to look as un-mousy and weak willed as possible, hard for an idiot like me.

"But what if someone like your or that Marcella lady bought him back?" Lorcan shoots bolt upright, looking down at me, taller than me. "I mean, if someone can bring me back, someone could always bring him back as well…"

"But who'd want to?" I cut him off before he can continue worrying. "What good would a cowardly, lying bastard do for anyone? Even demons wouldn't want him."

"It was a demon he worked for…" Lorcan sighs. "Lord Loss made a deal with him. He'd promised to help him survive the demon attacks, and Connla would provide him information on our weaknesses. Orna's love for her children, Bec's obvious liking for Fiachna…"

"Your love for Ronan." I mumble and he looks at me dead on.

"Exactly. He knew that losing Ronan would make me agitated and cause me not to think straight, he was correct. I couldn't work the same without my brother. He was the closest thing I had; I was closer to him than I was my own parents. We had a bond only twins can have I suppose. And Connla knew severing that bond would be my biggest flaw." I'm worried he's going to get upset now, so I put my hand back on his shoulder and smile slightly.

"You can go to sleep now; you don't have to tell me anything more; I can tell it's upsetting you." I know how counsellor like I sound, but it's the only thing I can think of doing.

"You really are living up to your name, Miss Esther," he grins and lays back down, chuckling slightly to himself as I turn lobster mottled red and feel my cheeks burst into a hot rash like feeling. I lie back down on the bed myself, and force my eyes shut, curling up in a little ball on my side, letting the world of sleep _finally_ take over…

I've always hated weddings. So I didn't know why my mind had put me in one; and it wasn't any old wedding, it was _my_ wedding. It was so surreal at first I actually though it was reality and that the entire vampoari, Lorcan, necromancy escapade was the dream. White surrounded me like a giant cloud and I knew I was in a church, but not a normal church.

The pews, the alter, the pillars, the walls, the floor, the drapes, the windows were all a swan feather white. Not a single drop of colour. I was probably the most colourful image in the serenely white atmosphere; my pale skin looked practically tanned in the colourless room, and my blonde hair shimmered. It'd been tied up into a fancy, over the top bun, like models in the magazines have; a series of curls woven into a rounded shape on top of my head, several ringlet style entrails hanging around my face. White lace bedecked my arms, leaving the skin showing though due to its see-through nature; a long, white skirt exploded from my waist down in a large 'o' shape, covered my legs. The bodice left most of my chest open, and my breasts were hitched upwards, creating a perfect cleavage. A single, diamond necklace hung around my throat.

I was in a _wedding dress_. I was getting _married_. This was _my_ 'big day'. But who exactly was I getting married to? I hated that feeling of unknowing I always was rewarded in my dreams. That dread of understanding I was no longer in control of the situation, that the dream decided what went now. My stomach tightened and my body urges me to turn on my heels and run, _but where to?_ My brain snapped. In the world of dreams, you lose control, the dream shapes itself. I've grown used to that fact of life over the years I've been dreaming.

And there was only one way to gain my answer, that was to walk to the alter. Like in all dreams, there was a source of power, something that shone like a jewel in the night sky; something that caught my eye and stood out. I began walking forwards, the tendrils of my curled hair bouncing with each smooth step I took until I was on the verge of running; but the weight of the dress kept me from being able to run properly, and so I was forced to simply fast walk my way towards the alter, the dress spilt out behind me, trailing on the floor as my pace picked up. I dashed up the white steps with simple 'clip-clop' sounds, and I knew the dream had fashioned me a nice pair of kitten heels, before standing there in a patient waiting motion.

Blood began to drip from the alter, but unlike the swimming dream, it didn't make me shriek in horror. I'd kinda anticipated it this time. At first it just came down in little raindrop patters, gently staining the floor in little splashes of blood, but it began to pick up its pace. The little drops turned into heavier splashes, making a louder patter when they hit the ground. Then great sloshes of blood fell over the side of the alter, snaking its way towards me, sliding up the around and staining the tips of my wedding dress.

Then it just began to pour out in a giant, messy, copper smelling river, full on hitting my dress, reaching up to my knee area as it hit me. Slithering around me it poured down the aisle, staining the white flour a brilliant crimson, but I steadfast. I needed to know if this dream had an actual meaning. Of course, it did.

"Lovely day for it," an unfamiliar voice said. Well, it was partly familiar; the accent made me think of Lorcan, Irish, but it belonged to someone a little older. It was more defined and steady with its tone, and its tone was arrogant. I spun around, my blood soaked dress spinning with me, flecking off little splodges of blood as I span around with such force. "You must be Esther Blake." The person grinned.

He looked only eighteen years old, three years my senior. He was handsome, all angles and sharp features, and tall with a lean build. His hair was long for a male's and carefully braided, like he reinforced the braiding every morning he awoke. A moustache peppered his upper lip, but no beard matched the dark moustache sitting above his pursed lips. His hair was black, pitch black, like the sky at night with a slightly bluish tinge to it. His eyes skimmed me, as if deciding I was worth his time but, surprisingly, he seemed to decide I was. Dressed like a groom; elegant black tux and white shirt, but his shoes were odd. Made of fine, natural leather and braided with horse-hair thongs.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice tight and throaty, unsure whether this person was friend or foe. Or even a human.

"Connla, son of Conn." _OH SHIT._ My mind chimed to myself and my eyes went wide. My life seemed to have the most perfect of timings; only what? Twenty minutes earlier Lorcan was telling me of this Connla asshole, now here he is, in a church, while I'm in a wedding dress. "And my mistress has informed me that Lorcan has already told you his little hate tale about me."

"You killed his brother…" I gasped, my throat tightening even more so than before. "I think he has the right to hate you for that." My voice tightened and I regained some of my wavering confidence, clenching my fists tightly together and glaring coldly at him, my eyes steely. "Now, if you don't mind, what do you want?"

Connla grinned, his face a mask of smugness and pride. "Nothing at all, Esther. I just wanted to check out who Lorcan's keeper is, so I can remember that pretty face of yours when you die." My stomach tightened and I felt freezing cold, swallowing back my fears as his smile increased. "Interesting, isn't he? Talented at fighting, but totally inapt without his brother. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to destroy himself yet…"

"JUST SHUT UP!" I screamed, storming towards him, my face flushing red with fury. "YOU BETRAYED YOUR SUPPOSED FRIENDS YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO MAKE COMMENTS LIKE THAT!" For a few seconds, Connla's face dropped, his skin paling, looking worried at my sudden outburst of anger. I guessed the time he came from, women usually weren't so vocal about their disliking of people because of sexism and all that shit.

He opened his mouth to probably insult me but I couldn't hear him. Everything began to shake as I felt myself being pulled from the dream. The church began blacking out, like someone was turning the lights on and off, every image in front of me blurring, Connla himself. Then everything descended into darkness…

**Yep! Esther's getting married…To Connla. Kidding, kidding, but this dream is hinting at something, wonder if you can guess it! I had this idea when my best friend Izzy was drawing wedding dresses and sending me pictures of them and thought it would be a cool concept to use as a concept! Hope you peeps like it!**


	8. Dangerous Type

**Disclaimer: You know the drill! I don't own anything in the Demonata bar any of the characters, creatures, locations and set-ups I've made for this fic deliberately. So that pretty much means that Esther, her family, Violet, the vampoari, Ellie, Nicole & everyone else who is non-canon is my property. But it seems like lately I haven't been using many Demonata characters (bar Lorcan & Connla), so I'm okay ;) **

**A/N: This chapter actually went through a massive re-write. Originally it was kinda just going to be filler in which you get to know Esther and Lorcan's dynamic more, but I realised that I wasn't enjoying the style of writing, and when I don't enjoy something, it **_**really**_** shows in my writing. So I scrapped all 1,382 of my words and rewrote this little masterpiece! Everything is sort of picking up now for Esther, and soon enough you will get to meet the Polish 'heart ripper' I promise you all. I just don't want to bring in my main villain too soon. And, just as a little spoiler, I am planning on doing a sequel fic to this if I think it's worth it.**

**In this chapter you get to see a jealous Esther (always fun) and it all gets a little scary really. I just needed to reminder you, my beloved readers, which San Valentino is dangerous and I realised that we haven't really seen his scary/dangerous side, so I wrote some of that in too. Don't worry, no-one gets too hurt, but it's kind of a reality check for Esther, a reminder that these beings are incredibly dangerous and that her smart mouth might get her in trouble some time. I realised she needs some boundaries and can't go around insulting every big scary vampoari she meets because she's a necromancer. Remember, she could be replaced!**

My eyes snap open, and I scream again, a loud, high-pitched, eponymous shriek of horror. I'm not at Marcella's house anymore. My first immediate clue is San Valentino, looming over me, dressed in his usual riverboat gambler attire, only he's changed colours again, purple and gold, very snazzy; with a matching mask of solid golden colour. His dark eyes staring down at me, a smirk twinging at his mouth, looking highly amused.

"I really must try this more," he announces, his accent heavily coated with a good side order of smugness and self-righteousness. "You're downright adorable when you scream, little Esther!" My eyes immediately narrow from pure instinct, I hate it when people call me 'little girl' or something along the lines of that. Niña is only _just _tolerable by my standards, and that's because it's endearing, not some stupid insult to refer to my age, or maybe even my gender. "Welcome to the Carnival of Blood!" As he says it, he flings his arms over his head in showmanship flair, fangs flashing as he grins, staring up into the lighting above. "Try not to lose any limbs…"

"Could you please quit the spiel already?" An unfamiliar voice snaps from the corner of the room; heavily accented English, like Beauté Nacré, only the accent was Scandinavian, maybe Danish, and female. As she says this, the said person steps out the shadows, and I immediately know she isn't a human being. Yet another vampoari is in my midst. Cuter than Beauté, less formal than Decha, even more expensive than San Valentino.

Skin the colour of ivory, looking almost silvery in the surprisingly bright light of the room. The entirely purple room and it's really starting to give me a headache. The walls, ceiling, floor, the chaise lounge I'm lying on, all matching San Valentino's outfit. Maybe it's his bedroom? That's a nasty thought. But my eyes are drawn back to the cutesy girl again, staring into her eyes, which are incredibly fitting, blue like spring skies and outlined with thick, long lashes. Rosebud pink lips parted into a sweet smile, totally unfitting, and her soft-featured, snubbed-nose face is outlined in honey gold curls, swirling around her face. She's wobbling slightly in the five inch heels she's wearing. Shocking pink.

Matching her shocking pink dress, tight on her petite body, and a golden cross is hanging around her neck, almost comedic seeing as most people view vampire-like creatures as 'devils'. "Hello," she says, grinning her filmstar smile, her heavily accented voice making her sound like a Bond Girl. "I am Beikur Rose, it means 'pink rose' in Danish. Unlike most the others, my actual name."

"She ain't kidding sugar cube," San Valentino pats the top of my head, still smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "Look up her name in the history books, you'll find her. Rosie was the daughter of an important Danish lord in the 17th century; his eldest child and the only girl."

"Who turned you?" I direct the question at Beikur Rose, ignoring the showman Valentino, deciding that the seemingly nicer vampoari deserves more recognition than him. She smiles sweetly and for a second I worry she's mocking me, sympathising with the 'little necromancer girl', but she answers, her heavy accent making every word sound glamorous and exotic.

"One of our family homes' gardeners," she sighs, sounding almost happy about telling me this. "His name was Harry, and he originated from Britain. Such a lovely boy; you never would've guessed he was one of this kind." By now she seems to have drifted off into her own little world, eyes shiny, smiling as if Harry's in the room with us. "He charmed me, showered me with attention, then offered me the chance to live forever. And, being a spoiled little bitch, I naturally accepted." It sounded almost ridiculous with her calling herself a 'bitch'. "So he turned me into what I am now."

"What happened to Harry?" I ask her, staring into her shiny eyes, which abruptly fade as she jumps back into reality and looks at the floor.

"He's here…Just not very well…" She mumbles to herself, staring intently at the floor.

"Vampoari get diseases too Esther," San Valentino sighs, sitting down next to me, forcing my outstretched legs to rest on his knees. "Certain humans have…Unusual blood, a little like yours. Necromancer blood always tastes different to normal humans, but some humans have a blood type simply known as D. D for 'deadly'; a vampoari who drinks from someone with D blood will get a rotting disease. No-one knows where the D blood string comes from, or how it even works without killing the human carrying it. It never hits particular families or something, just one person per couple generations, that's all, nothing repetitive, always new and different. Someone with D could have kids with D, but it's never certain. Only some inherit it."

"And Harry drank from someone with D blood?" I ask.

"Yes," it's Beikur who answers this time, swallowing tightly, her eyes clamped shut tight. "He didn't even realise until his skin began to flake and his veins began to stick out like it always does. We've been keeping him alive by feeding him bottled human blood through a straw but…We don't know if we can save him."

"Can you save someone once they've caught D?" I ask them both, hoping for an answer.

"Sometimes," Valentino shrugs, looking down at me. "If you provide them enough clean blood it can wash the D out of their system, saving them from it. It's rare though, we can only hope Harry can survive. He's a strong vampire, well over seven hundred." Beikur Rose looks in the verge of crying and Valentino does something totally out of his character at this. "But I'm sure we can save him, Rosie." He smiles at her, the first kind one I've ever seen.

"Not to sound rude…" I mumble, trying not to interrupt this obviously emotional moment, "But where's Lorcan?"

"Ah!" Valentino's smile returns to its smugness, grinning self-righteously as he returns his piercing stare back to me. "You're little Irish boy! Well, he's okay. Cindy just asked to speak to him…"

"Cindy?" I cut him off, bolting upright so fast I almost smack him straight in the face. "Why the hell are you letting _HER_ near him? He won't understand a thing she's saying!" I am totally aware that I know sound like Lorcan's girlfriend, but I'm so furious with San Valentino him taking the piss of me is suddenly a minor niggle to me.

"Ooh, touchy…" But his voice trails off when he sees how truly pissed off I look. I guess I might actually be frightening to a small capacity of people; fashionably retarded vampoari fitting the category. "Look, we just bought the two of you here because we're worried about Serse Ripper!" He sighs, sounding like he's a grumpy teenager and I'm his nagging mother.

"But you dropped us off at Marcella's last night! It'd make much more sense to bring us here…"

"We spotted Ingrid Westerhousen outside your parents' home last night, when we travelled there to collect your personal items, and realised that he's acting quicker than we anticipated. Don't worry," he cuts me off before I can begin asking lots of questions about my family's welfare. "They're fine! Ingrid wouldn't go hurting your family, surprisingly, that's something Serse would more likely do. But they clearly want you on their side, so massacring your family would be totally pointless."

"So you bought us here, to the Carnival of Blood, to live with you and the rest of your little gang?" I snap as I push myself off the chaise longue, so for once I look taller than him. "How nice of you!" My tone doesn't sound one bit grateful. "Now, where is he? He's my business remembers? I'm looking after him!"

"Down the corridor, third door on the left," Beikur Rose smiles sunnily at me, and a bottle of red liquid is in her hand. Her beloved Harry's dinner I guess.

"Thanks Beikur!" I call, already rushing for the door, yanking it open and storming down the hall, my hair flying out behind me, furious that Valentino would let Cindy anywhere near Lorcan. I'm not _JEALOUS_, I just don't want Cynthia confusing, nor frightening him. He's a nice boy, and he treats me better than any other guy I've met, so I don't want him scarred for life by that overweight prostitute. Reaching the said door I stop dead.

It's much more expensive looking than any of my outfits, which makes me look incredibly cheap. Pure mahogany and glamorous; guess that makes me cheap and chavvy. Turning the handle, it's blissfully unlocked and I yank open the door with all my strength. What I get to see before me makes me turn a burning scarlet shade and my eyes narrow thin like snake slits.

Cynthia Ellenscrow, teenage wannabe vampoari, more like prostitute, is leaning over Lorcan who looks the closest thing to terrified I've ever seen him. Her legs are barely covered, and her skirt is leather (go figure) and Egyptian purple in shade. Another leopard print top covers her large chest, about 3x bigger than my smaller one; this time the print is gold, like a proper leopards' fur. No jacket this time. Barefoot.

"Off him now!" I scream and Cindy jumps so fast she falls on the flaw, making me stifle a smirk as I look down at her, my blue Alice in Wonderland dress crumpled from falling asleep in it, and my hair an unbrushed mess around my pale face. I look half as stupid as Cynthia. She glowers up at me from her position on the floor, trying to regain some of her lacking dignity, but I ignore her and look up at Lorcan, whose staring pleadingly at me. "Oh my god! Are you okay?"

"Never…" He's gasping for air, obviously shaken by Cindy's attempt to flirt with him. "Let her near me again please!" He leans back into the leather, purple sofa (seriously, do these fangers have some purple fetish?), curling his knees up to his chest, shuddering. I dash forwards, practically jumping over Cindy, and sit next to him. I reach out my hand and gently place it on his shoulder.

"Lorcan, I am so sorry about what Cynthia just tried!" I stroke his skin gently, "If I'd known you were alone with her, I'd have got here sooner. I only woke up about five or six minutes ago Lorcan, so I didn't know. The minute San Valentino told me, I was out that room like a whippet after a rabbit." I look back at the glaring Cindy, who looks like a sulky child, only dressed like someone who gets paid for sex. "Get out!" I scream, making her jump, and I realise Cindy's never properly seen me angry. Maybe I am frightening?

She runs out the room faster than someone of her weight would be expected to; yanking the door open with one hand, dashing down the hall in the opposite way I came. Maybe she's going to tell on me? I roll my eyes at that thought, before looking back at Lorcan. "Okay, I have some explaining to do." I catch my breath. "We're going to be staying here for a while because…The people after me have been looking around my family's house and I refuse to let my family get hurt, so we're staying here for a bit."

"You attract a lot of attention Esther," he smiles weakly, "I can see why." My face goes red again, and I know he can see it this time, because he smirks at me.

"Don't you dare!" I hiss, but I know I'm smiling too and I look up at him. "I am so glad you're here! You're probably the only other human here that I can stand, Cindy is obviously not my friend." I look at him properly now. "What did she do?" I ask him.

"She just started touching me and trying to kiss me," he shivers. "And she dresses ridiculously." I snigger lightly at this. "I mean," he continues. "I've never seen anyone as ridiculous looking as her!"

"Cindy thinks it looks good," I shrug, leaning back into the seat. "Some people have an odd style, Lorcan, they think wearing clashing colours and too much leather, just like Cindy, makes them attractive to men. Some men, idiotic men, like that kind of thing. I'm glad to hear you don't."

"What do you dress like then Esther?" He asks me, his earrings glinting hypnotizingly in the light. He's still neglecting a shirt, but he's opted to wear a pair of black cameo pants, and looks like he's only just getting used to them.

"I don't know…" I shrug. "Not like Cindy, but no-one here dresses like me. They all dress like performing music artists, all show and flair, not like humans do. Being a vampoari means you need to keep up an image I guess, keep everything special and extravagant."

"You're special Esther," he grins and my ears go hot like someone's poured lava on them and he pats the top of my messy haired head. "You should be one of them."

"I don't really think I'd like it…" I sigh. "The living forever concept seems wonderful for a while, but when everyone you loves begins dying, then it all begins to hurt." I shrug again, leaning further back into the leather sofa. "And living forever seems like hell…" I trail off and look around the room. This one is plum purple, different from the room I woke up in, and the room I figure is now mine. I will literally _DIE_ if it turns out I'm sharing a room with San Valentino. But there's no clock. "What time is it?" I ask him quickly. "Do you know what time it is?"

"It's evening," he says it easily and smiles at me. "You've been asleep for a long time, Esther. A couple of hours at the least."

"So, let me get this straight…" I mumble to him. "We're in a place called the Carnival of Blood, I've been asleep for about six hours, and you aren't curious?" I look at him, dead on in the eye, aware of how piercing my own can be.

"Of course I'm curious!" He grins excitedly. "I wanted to go exploring this place, of course I did, and I still do! But I wanted to wait for you in case I got lost and you started to worry. I'd hate it if you began to worry," he smiles softly, the first totally relaxed smile I've ever seen him give me.

"Thank you!" I say quickly, but before I can ask him if he wants to go for a wander, the door opens and a familiar face enters the room. Beauté Nacré, the pearly beauty and group leader looking as graceful and elegant per usual. Dresses in a familiarly glamorous outfit; a pure white, silken dress that looks sort of like a fashionable night gown, contrasting with her glossy black hair which is swirled on top of her head in a neat bun. The dress reminds me of the one I had on in my dream, slightly, and immediately brings me back to the thought of Connla. Why the hell was he there? He's dead…At least I _think_ he is…

"Do you like weddings?" Beauté asks, holding out a golden envelope towards me. I give her an incredulous look, thinking she's joking, but I realise she's not just as fast.

"Who's wedding? I don't know anyone getting married." I ask cautiously, worried I'm about to be told I'm marrying San Valentino tomorrow or something as soon as then. I pray she doesn't reply with that, and today, luck seems to be on my side.

"I'm not surprised. The bride and groom are friends of mine; well, I say friends, more acquaintances, but when I told them about you, the bride insisted you should come. She's been in a predicament almost identical to yours Esther and so it's probably her sympathy that you twinged at." A small movement behind her makes me curious, and sure enough, a girl of about sixteen is standing behind her.

"Thanks but um…Who's that with you? I didn't know you hired many humans, bar Cindy." My tone comes out as a little curt, but she simply smiles, without fangs, looking like a bride on the night of her wedding she's so perfect. I turn back at Lorcan and sure enough, his eyes are transfixed on her; I'm guessing she has a lot of influence on men, so it's understandable why her face isn't looking at his. It makes me wonder if Decha the Power might be the man in Beauté's life.

"This is Elissa Quinn," she says matter-of-factly. "But people like to call her Ellie." Elissa Quinn steps out from behind the Queen of the Carnival (I've decided to nickname her that now), and I get a proper look at her. She stands at about 5'2 in height, fair skinned, and heart-shape faced with a widow's peak. Her hair is the colour of hazel nuts, and her eyes are an interesting auburn brown, looking like they should be reversed. She's dressed in a deep grey, long sleeved t-shirt and black jeans, with a pair of light grey converses on her feet. Attractive, fit, radiating strong-will. I think I'm going to like Ellie Quinn.

"I'm Miss Nacré's new PA," she says, smiling at me. Her accent is strongly Northern, a little like mine, but more Yorkshire than Geordie like me. "Amy, the person getting married, set me up here. Beauté helped her and her fiancé out with some demon based troubles a couple of years back."

"Ellie is going to be the maid of honour," the pearly beauty smiles flawlessly as ever. Wow, she sure does have connections with some people huh? "Amelia was there when her mother bravely sacrifice herself to save Ellie and her sister, Laura."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I say quickly, the impulse of apology swiftly kicking in at the hearing of Ellie's mothers' painful demise at the hands of hungry demons.

"Don't be," Ellie says quickly with a kind smile. "She died doing things her way, which was what she always preferred to do. She'd hate to know me and Laura were moping over her death; she wanted us to move on with our lives. That's what we're trying to do."

"This will be all," the pearly beauty announces the second Ellie's finished speaking. "I just wanted to you to meet Ellie in case you see her around the Carnival. If you have any questions, please ask her, I'll let you two be. Oh!" She stops mid turn as she spins around, disappearing in a whoosh of air, before returning with a bag. One of my bags. "Decha dropped your clothes off here last night, just before he went to pick you too up. I realised you'd be needing them; you're much too tall and thin to share with Cynthia, and I figured you weren't into her style much, so here you are."

I begin to thank her, but she leaves the room swiftly will Ellie, eager to show off her new assistant to the other vampoari who are probably hanging around somewhere here. Speaking of which, I wonder where I actually am. Instinct is telling me I'm underground and it figures. The vampoari don't do light too well, unless it's fake, and there've been no windows I've seen so far. So they must be living underground, and the Carnival is roaring up above us. Good soundproof walls. How much did they cost? Is all I can wonder.

"Do you need to get dressed?" Lorcan asks me, and I spin round quickly, staring back at him.

"Yes…I um do…Could you wait outside or if there's a bathroom stay in there?"

"Of course," he nods, smiling at me as he exits into another room I can only imagine is the bathroom or bedroom of this little 'flat' like place.

I rifle through the bag of clothing, picking out clothes one at a time, giving them a quick look before dropping them back into the bag and sitting on the floor cross-legged, wondering what I should wear. If I'm going to explore the carnival with Lorcan, I want to dress sensibly. The first clothing item I pick out are my palest pair of blue jeans, the colour of a winter morning sky. See! I'm a poet and I didn't know it. Fishing through my shirts I pick out a blue one, a few shades darker than the jeans and a lacy white hooded top that I pull over the top of it. Just in case it gets cold up there. A simple pair of my favourite converses finish the outfit off, and I stand up.

"Lorcan, you can come out now!" He opens the door slowly and looks at me, as if he was expecting me to be wearing a flouncy pink ball gown, his face a mixture of confusion and interest. "It's not illegal for a girl to wear trousers now." I laugh slightly at his shock. "I don't always wear expensive blue ball gowns; in fact, I try desperately to avoid them."

"I think you looked lovely in your blue one," he grins at me. "You looked like a fairy from one of the stories my mother used to tell me as a child. Perfect!" His grin increases as I pout like an immature little bitch. Or maybe I just am one? You never know.

"Well," I put my hands on my hips and get ready for the big feminine speech. "These days, women aren't just there to smile with perfect hair, wearing dresses that show off their 'assets'. We can be equal to men. In fact, England is ruled by a _QUEEN_, not a king!" The look of astonishment on his face is nothing short of hilarious, so a charming, sickeningly false grin graces my mouth. "So, like I said, I don't think you'll be seeing much of me in princess dresses anytime soon, unless I get a brain transplant."

Lorcan shrugs, before resuming his grin, "Always worth a try," his smile shines like a star in the night sky, captivating and mesmerising all at once. "Now, can I see this 'carnival of blood'?" He asks, sounding like an impatient child, making my own face pull into a grin.

"Course you can! Just…Don't do anything dangerous!" I say quickly as he stands up.

* * *

The Carnival of Blood is every bit as disturbing as I'd pictured it; bright, flashy, its name embezzled in neon lights over a large archway made sculpted out of red metal, maybe iron. Large, oval balloons are attached to the sign, flashing in different colours every second. Buildings scattered the open ground and it clearly couldn't be a traveling carnival, because of the giant warehouses where each of the exhibits were housed; signs were stuck messily on the side, explaining which of the exhibits were on tonight.

Poster edges were fading and scratched slightly, but I can still tell what I'm going to be delightfully shown tonight if I so please. I could go and visit 'Cashmere the Half-Tiger'; the poster shows the fading image of a tall, attractive woman with orange skin, painted with black stripes and a tale sticking out from her backside, her outfit was a blue bikini top like thing and a thin material skirt. Tasteful as ever for the female of the species. Or I could pay a trip to 'Lakisha the Giant Snake'; a giant cobra, the same colour of fresh cream with coiling bands of blood red curving round it's body. I've never been a reptile sort of girl, so I tick that one off my list.

But it's the final poster that catches my eye; 'Marcella the Zombie Raiser'. A neat picture of Marcella is drawn upon the poster, portraying her in a long, sweeping black gown and a sparkling onyx tiara placed upon her head. Several zombies, decomposing and rotten, sag pathetically around her. My eyes stare at it, and I gulp, I literally fucking gulp!

That will be me. It'll be me on that poster when she dies. I'll be the one performing at a carnival; _TEEN VOODOO QUEEN_ flashes before my eyes. A perfect title for me…

"Esther?" Lorcan's hand slams down on my shoulder, and I jump, squeaking like a little mouse caught in a cat's death grip. "Are you okay? You've been staring at that poster intently like it's something important. Hey! Isn't that the lady from that car…"

I cut him off, not wanting to go into it. "It just…Surprised me to know she still worked with her rotting disease…I thought they would let her rest or something. Not force her into dressing up and performing in some disgusting freak show."

"Freak show?" He asks, obviously confused at the concept of a freak show and I sigh, shuddering at the upcoming explanation I need to give him.

"A freak show, is a…" I'm now desperately searching for a politically correct term, trying to pluck one out of the air. "Display…Of um…People who are seen as…Different by society…" Is all I manage to mumble, keeping my head down the entire time. "And it's disgusting exploitive business which should be stopped because it pays people to be stared at and laughed at and…" I trail off, realising my rant is confusing him. "Okay, Lorcan, I don't like them because they're just…Horrible. It's making people who look different to me and you feel even worse by forcing them to be put on display and gawped at."

"No-one did that in my time," he says matter-of-factually.

"That's because people deemed as 'freaks' had to hide. I think people might have killed them if they'd shown their faces; people might have thought they were demons children."

"Aye," his accent always thickens whenever he says that word, it sounds totally pure, totally Irish and _totally_ adorable. I find all my fears demolished the minute I hear it and grin up at him, my eyes glittering like a hungry ravens, only…Not as predatory…I hope.

I've noticed that as we've been walking around, inspecting the attractions, all different sorts of people are giving us _those_ looks. The elderly and adults give us those 'oh! Isn't it sweet! Young love!' looks; the teenagers, both male and female either ignore us, or shoot the 'why did she/he chose him/her?' look. I'd never think anyone would give _ME_ that look, but people are. As for the little children? They either ignore us like most of the teenagers, or look frightened. Well, Lorcan is very tall, shirtless and very scarred; and my skin, hair and eye contrast looks can make me incredibly eerie. In nursery school I frightened several other kids. I'm used to it.

The strong scent of cotton candy, fried food, cinnamon buns, sweat, tension and even the faintest scent of heavy makeup hangs over the air like a blanket; but sure enough, underneath, is the all too familiar sweet, sickly, coppery scent of _blood_. It seeps its long, sweeping, nimble fingers over everything and I shudder slightly, gripping onto Lorcan's hand tightly, looking all around me.

"You can smell the blood too?" He asks me, staring down from his impressive height of about 6'1. I nod, feeling slightly faint but refusing stubbornly to let my knees give in. "You get used to it eventually, then you don't wobble so much and look like you want to fall over."

"I don't want to fall over!" I snap the minute he says that and he laughs brightly, his earrings jangling and his hair blazing per usual. Something about him is so exotic and enchanting; and maybe I feel special because only _I_ can understand him. "But yes, I can smell the blood. And I hate it!" I feel my toes curl at this. "It's disgusting and I personally don't understand how you can stand it."

"Like I told you, Esther, I spent my life fighting demons. A lot of blood was spilt in the process." We've stopped walking now, grinding to a hault in front of the funhouse. Screams and laughter echo from the inside, reverberating off the rounded walls which lead into the darkened attraction which in the darkness seems to go on forever and ever. As I'm staring at it, I feel his arms wrap around me and he pulls me close to his body. "But I won't go into the gory details; you don't do well, with gore, do you?"

All I can do is shake my head, but I don't want to pull away. Unlike me, he feels volcanic hot, radiating unusual warmth, while I seem to emit an icy cold. I'm the one to pull back of course, looking up at him with one of my most ridiculously fuzzy and idiotically warm smiles that I've barely given anyone.

"You're always so cold," he comments, and I find this ridiculous seeing that he's the one walking around shirtless. "How do you put up with it? It makes me worry about you." I stare up at him, shocked that he'd worry about me. I know he's promised to protect me from danger and all, but worried simply because I have a cool body temperature? That is possibly one of the _sweetest things_ any boy has ever said to me.

"I'm always cold," I reply quickly. "It's my natural skin tone; I burn easily in the sun, I hate hot weather, I don't get the chills in the summer, it's normal. You don't need to worry; you can't control my body temperature!" I laugh lightly, trying to calm him down. "Lorcan I've always had a freezing cold body temperature, it's part of who and what I am; I think it's because…" But I'm cut off by a small, nervous tap on my shoulder and turn around.

A young woman is standing behind me, staring sheepishly at the ground, biting her lip. She's older than me, although her body language makes her seem about a year younger, peaking maybe even nineteen years old but she's certainly at least seventeen. Her height is only about 5'0, two inches smaller than the already short Elissa Quinn, whose height surprised me; but her face holds an age which lets me know she's older. Her soft, delicate face has Asian features, increasing her delicateness; her sleek chocolate brown hair is swirled into a high ponytail, sitting at the back of her head. But she's dressed in a gothic, almost vampiric style, which is ironic because she's 100% pure human.

Tight, pitch black leather jacket that hugs her small frame; a richly coloured royal blue t-shirt which shows off her cleavage and plum like breasts; black jeans cover her short legs, and two, neat snakeskin ankle boots sit on her feet. She even has a cute little nametag attached to her blue shirt and I take a brief glance. 'Nicole Phan' is the name of the girl standing in front of me.

"Are you Esther?" She practically squeaks timidly, staring up at me, a full seven inches smaller, despite being at least two years older. Her voice is high pitched and sweet, like bon-bons or chocolate; again making her gothic fashion look bizarre or comedic.

"Yes…" I reply nervously, unsure who she is.

"Nicole Phan, like the nametag says," she holds out her manicured hand which I politely shake. "I'm Mr Valentino's PA." _God, do all vampoari have fucking PAs?_ Is all I can think. "He wishes to speak to you in private about something." The second she says my fiancé's name, her eyes sparkle and my stomach clenches brutally; _this_ should clearly be the future Mrs Valentino, not me. Nicole is totally enamoured with him, much more than I can ever force myself to be. "Could you come with me?"

"Sure…" I mumble unenthusiastically, but know I have to go. "Come on," I smile weakly at Lorcan. "We need to be somewhere."

* * *

The Carnival is packed to the brim with people, so I'm literally dodging people as I scurry after the fast paced Nicole. We dropped Lorcan off back in the management building, which leads all the way underground via lift to the living quarters of the vampoari, and now it was just the two of us.

She's been leading me further and further away from the carnival, and I'm beginning to worry about what exactly San Valentino has got planned. I don't trust the smooth talking, odd dressing, outwardly polite and charming vampoari one bit, so I hate the fact that his little lovesick PA is leading me away from the crowds. As much as I hate crowds, I hate being alone with San Valentino five times over, so I'd much rather be back at the carnival than out here.

"I'll leave you here," Nicole mumbles awkwardly the minute she spots San Valentino who stands opposite me in the long, uncut grass, totally expressionless, and I hear her swiftly scutter away back to wherever he summoned her from.

"Nicole's a good girl," San Valentino sighs, watching his little assistant awkwardly run back towards the carnival, probably off to sort more things out for him. "But she isn't as special as you Esther." I stare at him, disturbed by this sudden so-called 'affection' and his façade of 'I love you' drops like a bomb. "You're pathetic little love feelings for the teenage warrior are pointless," he snaps at me, his face harsh and unfeeling, obviously a mix between extreme jealousy and extreme anger. Anger I get, but jealousy? San Valentino's using me as a revenge pawn, he doesn't like me! At least, I _pray_ he doesn't, and I don't even believe in god. "You know you're marrying me; but your stubborn nature means you're obviously going to deny that you love him, and that is what amuses me so. You're stubbornness is hilarious to watch Esther Blake; I enjoy seeing it develop."

"I don't love him!" I snap, furious he's making these rude, ignorant, obnoxious assumptions about how I feel. Even if I _DO_ love Lorcan, he has no right to go making assumptions and laughing about them. But I don't love Lorcan in any capacity more than friendship, so it's pointless and stupid. Like him. "Besides, like you care! You're in love with yourself! Besides…" I shut my eyes tightly and force the next bit out. "You're a powerful, interesting being of 'the night' or whatever! You could have any girl on earth; Nicole for one is clearly in love with…"

"But they aren't as interesting as you." He cuts across, smiling serenely like a little angle. "You are one of the most interesting human beings I have ever come across, there's just something so drawing about you. And it has nothing to do with blood or how you look; you radiate something. Intend to discover what it is."

"So, you don't need to marry me to acquire information about what I 'radiate' or whatever!" I fold my arms across my chest and glared slightly, not as much as before, but still just enough to maybe make him a little less comfortable. "The only reason you're marrying me is to get back at my father and piss off me as well! This is practically a big hate crime!" I yell incredulously. "This isn't about me; it's about you and my dad's years old war over the deal you made!"

For some reason this really seems to piss him off, and in a split second he's in front of me, and all my confidence and anger vanishes within the blink of an eye. He grabs hold of my right wrist with one gloved hand, tightly pressing into the flesh with his slender fingers. "You do not know who you're talking to, you _stupid, little, girl._" His eyes are burning with rage and I feel my skin go a good few shades paler. "I could tear your throat out at this very second but I'm choosing not too, so. Less. Of. The. Attitude!" He looms over me, a suffocating wave of white hot fury rushes through me and I squirm, forcing his grip to increase so much I bite my lip.

My wrist bones seem to be closing in on themselves, compacting and I know he'll break my wrist if he so forth desires, so I increase the tension between my lip and my teeth. I'm biting down so hard now I can feel the skin beginning to push open, the smallest droplets of blood beginning to leak from the now open wound I'd caused myself.

I know my wrist is on the verge of snapping, and I can practically hear the bones in my wrist creaking with the pressure of Valentino's hand clamping down on my wrist like a carjack. I swallow back my nerves and manage to meet his eyes; although my own are practically popping out their sockets, beginning to water at the edges, and I pray not to cry. Crying shows weakness, and San Valentino is going to find my weakness either hysterical, or, my stomach plummets at this thought, sexually exciting. I wouldn't put it past him.

"Apologize, now," he hisses between clenched teeth, although his gleaming fangs have slipped, unsheathed from the gums and raking over his lower lip. "APOLOGIZE!" He practically screams and I jump out my skin, the first of the tears beginning to trickle down my face, as I shiver violently.

"Sorry…" I squeal, my face crumbling like a child's and tears slipping out my eyes, trickling slowly down my face as my knees begin to buckle due to the horrific amount of pain my wrist is taking. "I'm _sorry!_" I sound pathetically frightened, but know it doesn't matter. This is life or death and we both now it; San Valentino is fixatedly staring at the blood trickling down my jawline and I pull back from him, his grip slowly slipping as he stared at the blood. My wrist aches with pain and I think he might've fractured it, but I'd rather have a shattered wrist than have him jump me and drain me dry of my blood.

"You can go now." He says, but his own voice is shaking with desire. Creepy desire. The desire to jump me and drink my blood on the spot.

It feels as if my heart is going to burst out of my chest, pumping twice as fast as usual,_ increasing my blood flow_. After staring at him for one brief second, I turn on my heels and begin running away from him, my hair flying out behind me, my long legs pounding against the grass beneath me, and I'm glad I chose jeans and converses as my attire today, or this would be a lot harder. My arms swing as I desperately press myself to run faster, desperate to get away from him.

I briefly turn around, and see that San Valentino has vanished, off into the night; a sick feeling in my stomach tells me he's gone off to feed on another human, desperate himself to get the smell of my blood out of his mind so he doesn't try and eat me the next time we're forced to stay in the next room together.

The large crowds of the carnival are just a few foot ahead and, thank god, I manage to slip into the large gaggle of people, slipping in and out of other people, hiding myself in the blanket of the crowd, making sure that I can't be picked out from it, paranoid San Valentino will jump me any second. Nicole Phan is nowhere to be seen and something tells me that she acts as his main snack pot when he needs a daily dosage of blood; I also think that he's feeding Nicole human blood so she doesn't run out of her own. Like a personal drinking fountain. It'd explain why her jacket collar was turned up, covering her neck.

Part of me wonders whether all the vampoari feed on their PA's but I quickly dismiss this; Cindy's neck and wrists were always on clear display and they never showed any signs of scarring, while Ellie doesn't seem to be acting nervous, like someone who knows she's going to be fed on by a powerful vampoari. My wrist is still aching as I push my way past people, and I clench my fists tightly, trying to ignore the riveting pain which is pounding its way up my arm, spreading through my veins.

I know that I look a mess; dried blood on my chin, my wrist area scarlet, with the white imprints of San Valentino's fingers on my flesh, shivering violently as I trudge along, my head facing the ground, but I occasionally look up for conformation that my future husband isn't stalking me.

As childish as it sounds I'm frightened of him. Of what he could do. And most importantly, of what I feel. I don't know if I'm in love with Lorcan, or whether he's just becoming my best male friend who I trust more than anyone else on earth, bar Violet and my family, but I don't want to think about it. Life's frightening now; it isn't one big fun ball of magic and power. It's scary and I don't _want_ to marry San Valentino. I don't want to marry _anyone_, I just want to be Esther, but now I'm even being denied that.

Trudging through the crowds of people, my hands driven into my jean pockets, although my right one is stinging like someone's just injected a wasp stinger into my flesh, and I swallow tightly, pushing back down my fears, unsure what to do. I _can't_ tell Lorcan; the repercussions of that would be devastating and could end with the deaths of him, me and possibly even San Valentino. I _can't _tell my family; they're already panicking enough about my welfare, I don't want to freak them out anymore. But I don't want to dump it all on Violet either. Unless…unless she comes to see me…

**Spoiler alert! Next chapter, you, my lucky readers will finally get to meet Violet in the flesh. Another fun little story for you here: Violet was originally meant to be this background character that'd be mentioned by Esther when she talks about her past. She wasn't meant to have any real significance to the plot, or anything else really! But then I realised that Violet acts as Esther's main confident, and all the information she knows could get her hurt sometime. So, here's some Violet love!**


	9. Boyfriend and Girlfriend?

**Disclaimer: Blah! Blah! Blah! I don't own Demonata, Darren Shan does. But I do own any OCs or non-cannon creatures that will appear in this fic. And trust me; as you now know, I have a LOT of non-cannon creatures, never mind characters.**

**A/N**:** Sorry it's been so long loyal readers! I recently went back to school which means I've got a lot of work due to this being the first of my exam years, so updating will be a lot less frequent sorry! I rewrote this chapter a billion times because originally the story was going to go in a totally opposite direction til I realised it'd become to 'vampoari politics' based, scrapped the former chapter and wrote this in its place. This is told in past tense, opposed to present because the next chapter will go back to present, but this is an explanation of the upcoming Chapter 10's events. Fluff ahoy in this chapter and the cuteness of this chapter made me practically squeal with happiness, however a massive twist is coming at the end to show you that it's not all fun and games. These events will take the vampoari, at least San Valentino, Decha, Beikur Rose ect ect, out the picture for a while because we're going to be going into Lamb territory and learning a bit more about our favourite family: The Grady's! I did this because I wanted to have more Bill-E Spleen in the fic because I absolutely adore him (he's like one of my real life friends!) and so I made up this plot point to get him back into the mix. Hope you enjoy!**

I've never really had much control when it comes to violent or chaotic situations, but for once I managed to handle one successfully by myself. Maybe it was the mauve coloured ring in the shape of fingers imprinted onto my fair skin, or the cherry red welts which were starting to form, or maybe the odd dried trickle of crimson blood which had stained my inner palm; or maybe it was just the combination of those key three factors which set him off. But most of all, maybe it was the deep feeling of failure he must've felt bubble so cruelly inside his chest when he saw the state of my wrist; and that was what had make me start crying. Not the pain. Well, mostly anyways.

I'd never really been classed as a cry-baby by anyone I've ever met, which is why I hate it whenever I start; it's the immediate stares and questions which I hated, not the actual act of crying itself. I have no issue when someone begins to cry, I only have issue with the people who believe they have the right to then interrogate them about why they were doing it. If you're a friend, or a family member, you naturally get a free pass, but it's when someone you don't know, or don't particularly like, asks that irritates me so much. Why should they be allowed immediate access into your emotions and feelings, especially if they're just searching for gossip? But this time, I knew it was going to have some form of reaction, because of the context of the situation. And the reaction I anticipated was not only correct, but the exact thing I'd been hoping wouldn't happen.

* * *

"He did _what_ to you!?" My attempt at hiding my wrist behind my back hadn't worked, or Lorcan wouldn't have addressed the issue of its colour and the bumps beginning to arise on the reddened or purpled skin. He'd grabbed it the second he'd saw it, but he'd grabbed me around the elbow, as if he'd dealed with injuries such as my own by now. I figured in his original time span, with fighting demons and dealing with the subjects of death and destruction, meant that he'd end up treating other people's injuries and wounds, no matter what they were nor how gruesome.

"I shouldn't have opened my mouth and back chatted him…" Was the defence I tried to use, because it was true. I'd gotten far too cocky for my own good and I'd ended up paying the price by having my wrist almost broken, but I'd been preparing myself for this since I set off for my walk back, knowing what was going to come up regarding the injury I'd sustained.

"He almost broke your wrist!" Lorcan was furious and it showed openly, his body language was jittery and every muscle, nerve ending, open mark of skin seemed to be noticeably shaking as if he was about to begin emitting electricity. His fists were clenched so tightly they were a ghastly shade of white, and his knuckles were vibrating the most violently out of any of his body parts as he paced up and down the room, the jingling sound of his earrings breaking the almost suffocating tension. "He hurt you and you're trying to stand up for him!?" By then he just sounded incredulous and ran one hand through his short hair. "I'm going to kill him…"

"NO!" It came out before I could try and calm down but his head immediately snapped up in my direction and I knew now that I'd emitted that statement of my own, I was going to need to back it up. I swallowed and my eyes, which had already, began watering slightly, began to spill tears down my cheeks, making my squeeze my eyes tightly shut, biting my lip and furiously rubbing at them with my sleeve ends. "You have no idea what he could _do_, Lorcan! He could kill you within a _second_ and you've got this insane idea that _you're_ going to be able to single-handedly kill him!?" My vision had blurred due to my tears but I could tell he was barely keeping his temper together.

"I _promised_ to _protect you_…"

"But you can't successfully do that if you're dead!" I practically screamed, my own body beginning to shake now as I stared up at him. My pale blonde hair, the shade of frosted lemon bonbons, had fallen slightly in front of my face, further clouding my vision and the waves slightly fell over my eyes. Taking a big, tight, almost painful breath inwards and half-skipping, half-walking over to him I put my hands on either one of his broad, scarred shoulders, the pale scars visible even in the rooms low light. "You _know_ you couldn't win, but you _wish _you could, which is why you're so determined. If you were dead then there would be nothing in San Valen-_fucking_-tino's way to stop him marrying me, so why waste all these possibilities just to give him what he so badly desires?" A strand of waving, blonde hair was pushed away from my tear-stained, fading into ashen face and I properly looked up at him.

He'd stopped shaking violently and he simply looked down at me, as if deciding whether to take my advice or totally ignore it, and proceed to kill San Valentino regardless of what I said. But he simply sighed and he sat down on the plum coloured sofa behind him, my hands still on his shoulders so I looked like, in some strange warped vision, that _I_ was taller than _him_. He looked up at me, and in that brief second of eye contact, something about his body language changed. His lips curved into a smile and his long, lean, weathered arms wrapped around my slim waste so my body was pushed against his, my head buried into his shoulder, coating his naked back in long, curling blonde fibres of my pale hair and my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. "Thank you…" I whispered and his grip on me tightened to the extent of which I had to kneel on the sofa, my kneecaps pushing into the velvet fabric.

"It's fine." He said, and his voice reflected the fact he'd calmed down, as well as the soft grip on my waist. "Guess I'll have to wait till he's asleep in his coffin, aye?" My facial expression must've been one of shock, horror or a blend of both because he began to laugh and shook his head, his earrings clinking as he did so but grinned up at me. "Kidding, kidding! I won't go and try and kill your fanged future husband…For now at least." His scarred, extensively weathered hand stroked at the tips of my hair, pulling gently on the curls so they flattened themselves out, only to spring back upwards into their usual spiralling fashion and I shifted myself slightly due to the amounting pressure being put on my knees by myself leaning on them. I've never been good at kneeling, my knees have issues when holding up the rest of my body, despite my legs being long.

"You can sit on my knee if you like?" Lorcan offered and for a brief second I thought he was joking…Until I looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity and guilt, as if he wanted to make it up to me in some way, anyway, somehow.

"Thanks…" I smiled and shifted myself so I was perching on his right knee, my arms still wrapped around his neck, and in this position I was facing him directly, staring him in the face, so our eyes, his pale, almost grey, green and my midnight sky blue were looking directly into each other. My stomach, as well as my heart, seemed to clamp up, scrunching into little balls and I took a sharp, quick intake of breath as the blood begin to swirl like a whirlpool in my cheeks, dying them the colour of pink smarties. Everything seemed to automatically improved its clearness but I didn't know why and although my brain was desperately telling me to drop eye contact…I just couldn't. I don't know how much time passed before his hand gently shook my shoulder and I jumped slightly, everything fading back to its usual dullness and loosing that clear shine.

"Are you okay?" He asked, staring at me as if he was a mixture of curious and amused, which I figured he had the right to be. I was confused myself.

"Yeah!" I said quickly, practically cutting off the last part of his sentence in my haste to usher the words out. "I…I think I just zoned out for a second there…Sorry." I smiled somewhat awkwardly, my eyelids drooping slightly. It'd been a longer night than the one I'd originally anticipated to had, and the cracks in my wide-awake façade were beginning to show through my seemingly 'bright eyed and bushy tailed' performance. "Maybe tiredness is just getting to me…" I managed to blurt the words out before I yawned, another tell-tale sign I was ready for bed.

"Need to rest?" Lorcan asked me gently, and when I looked up his own eyes were clouding over, like they always do when you're tired. Talking seemed to be taking up a little too much effort at that point in time, so I simply nodded meekly and rubbed my eyes yet again. The redness was beginning to die down, and the whites were returning to their namesake white colour, but my eyelids were still falling down and I was by then yawning profusely. I leaned back against the sofa's headrest, staring up at the ceiling which was the pinkish-purple shade of an amethyst, but I was barely able to identify it because my eyelids which furiously trying to totally rob me of my vision so I could return to the hopefully peaceful world of sleep and earn the rest I figured I'd deserved for the night's events which I _definitely_ hadn't seen coming.

Lorcan's fire engine red hair blazed on the mauve colouring of the sofa next to me, some of it blending in with my strands of border lining platinum blonde hair; our bodies were so close together my small shoulders brushed up against his broader ones, and my eyes ascended up to his face. Stubble coated the area of his jawline, but I didn't really mind it, and some people could argue it made him look more grown up; his eyes were shut closed and his breathing had become shallow. I've never been able to understand how he manages to send himself to sleep so painlessly and quickly, and I never will; call it his own little secret.

Using the last amount of strength in my body, I rolled onto my side, although I extended my sour wrist so it rested gently all the way across to the other side of his bare chest; my head gently rested just below his right shoulder, hair spilling across his chest, possibly gently tickling his naked flesh, and my legs curved up into the foetal position, pushing my body gently against his own. He just seemed to be impossibly warm, warmer than anyone I'd ever been near before; on the other hand, you could create the counter argument that I've always been incredibly cold, so maybe it was just me finding someone with an average body temperature, compared to my freezing one. My eyes began to close, gently drifting me off into what some people call the land of dreams. And for once, in the very first time in what seemed like years; although in actuality it was days, I didn't dream of demons, or Connla, or dead bodies, or churches, or weddings, or anything revolving around the subject of the macabre. Maybe I didn't dream, or maybe I just didn't have a usual dream for me, but all I knew was that my dream wasn't a nightmare, or at least a memorable one at that.

* * *

The pine trees seemed to have stood in the forest for years. _Hundreds_ of years. Maybe even thousands if you pictured back far enough. I didn't understand why Lorcan had decided for us to go out into the woodland area during today's light hours, but it was pleasant because of the tranquillity which was held in the woods. I found it slightly strange that the carnival was surrounded by miles of thick, grassy woodland and meadow area, but it was a nice kind of strange because it was such a peaceful contrast compared to the carnival's flashing lights and obnoxiously loud music and the screaming. Human staff, such as Nicole Phan and Ellie Quinn, manned the place during the day, whilst the vampoari slept down in their coffins, so it was mainly young children and teenagers who visited in the daylight hours.

Small birds fluttered throughout the trees, and I occasionally heard the snap of a twig, followed by a rush of brown shooting through the trees-deer. I was practically blending into the trees with my chosen outfit, but wearing purple or neon orange to the woods never struck me as intelligent, so it figured. My shirt was a shade of brown, a few shades lighter than the pinewood bark, and my hoodie even lighter still; navy jeans and black walking boots completed my outfit. Sure, the blondness of my hair took away the subtlety a bit, but I could live with that. I figured with my newly revealed species, I'd end up living with a lot more terrible things than simply having hair which stood out in the wilderness. Strangely enough, today Lorcan had decided to wear a shirt today which I found a little odd, but figured pushing your way through the wilderness topless would get you pretty scratched up, regardless of what time period you originate from. It was almost funny that he'd chosen a deep green t-shirt, which contrasted with his hair so much it practically blazed, almost crackling like fire as his earrings glinted when the icy sunlight hit them.

"Can you eat the deer in these woods?" He asked, and I partially jumped, staring up at him, before figuring out my answer.

"I guess so. They're not like swans, they don't belong to the Queen, so yeah, it's okay to kill and eat the deer I suppose." He cursed and shook his head, clearly annoyed.

"It's a shame I don't have my weapons then," he held up his head higher, looking up to the canopy of branches and leaves which clouded out the golden sunlight from streaming through. "Or I could have caught us a nice deer to eat." I felt my stomach lurch slightly at that, having an all too familiar memory of the Disney film _Bambie_. I first watched that film when I was three or four years old, and I never got over it; there was something just so chilling about the gunshot which signalled his mother's death that frightened me and I remember vividly running out the front room half-crying, half-screaming when the infamous scene happened. I've never attempted watching it since that day and I still don't plan to. The memory of that must have made my face go ashen because he lightly tapped me on the shoulder, staring down at me, slightly worried. "Are you okay? You look ill."

"Yeah…" I nodded, smiling thinly, the only smile I could manage at the childhood horror which was that film. "Just remembering something I saw which involved a deer's mum getting shot…I never really got over it." He looked at me like I was insane crying over a deer's mother dying. "It was this film about a little deer and hunters shot his mother and so I could never really get over that!" I explained quickly. "I only saw it when I was really little and it was my first proper experience of death, even though it was all make believe, so it really hit me hard."

"A…Film?" He looked at me utterly confused, and I realised the context of the answer had confused him more than it definitely should have.

"I…Can't really explain…" I mumbled, taking hold of his weathered hand in my own smoother one, intertwining my fingers with his own, squeezing it slightly. "I'll show you what a film is when we get back to the circus! They were like…A massive technological advance in their time." I smiled slightly up at him, my hair falling back in front of my eyes slightly, but I pushed the strands away, simply smiling at him like an idiot. "Sorry about that…"

"Don't apologize, pretty Esther," I felt the blood immediately rush up to my cheeks within the second of the words leaving his mouth, but he continued talking. "I need to get myself more updated with your times anyways. And with all the new bad language." He snickered at that and grinned down at me, his eyes shining almost as brightly as his earrings were in the frosty morning sunlight. We'd set off at 8 AM, despite only having about seven hours sleep, but the cold air of the woodland area had immediately woke me up, a pleasant surprise.

Lorcan had sped up his pace slightly, so I was half-running as I scampered along to keep up with his longer strides provided by having longer legs, which enabled him to carry longer distances in a much quicker pace. He spent most of the walk from the fairground to the woodland area telling me about his childhood, how he was taught how to swim and how he learned to fight from an early age, quickly rising to one of the best fighters in his tuath by the age of just thirteen. I'd listened politely, enjoying his tales, and was glad that he left out all of the sadder parts. Although the truth was important to me, it cheered me up to hear him overall much happier. "So?" He grinned down at me, grinning even more mischievously. "Why don't you tell me about your childhood Esther?"

I was reduced to shrugging and bit my lip tightly. "Nothing much to tell really…" I shook my head. "I didn't have many friends," I sighed and shrugged at that mentioning. "I used to scare other kids in my nursery school because of my pale skin, pale hair, and my dark eyes so they never really wanted to get to know me and it tarnished my reputation from that year upwards. Kids went out of their way to ignore me, and if I ever did make a friend, they'd then ditch me once they were accepted into a bigger group as long as they gave me up. I made a friend when I visited my grandma's house; my best friend Violet, who arrives here tonight, but apart from that I've never really had anyone. I have my little sister, Evie, and my parents, but obviously I'm not seeing them much at the moment." I looked up at him and smiled slightly, almost feeling like I wanted to laugh. "So I've never had anyone like you had your friends and family."

"Well, don't worry Esther," Lorcan's hand untangled itself from my own and instead, wrapped his arm around my slim shoulder. "You have me now," I laughed slightly, high pitched and nervously, like a little girl who's just got her first crush. "And I promise to protect you until I die." I smiled up at him then, the blush having died down in my cheeks, and I had a feeling my eyes were sparkling by the smile back which he gave; it was warm and complete, a smile which I figured he hadn't given anyone in quite some time, which made me feel incredibly special and I immediately felt bad for being so vain, but couldn't stop myself. His hand slid back down from on my shoulder back to my hand, so we were again linked via them. "Don't you just love the woods?" He grinned down at me, staring around the greenery which surrounded us with a look of childish awe reflecting in his eyes.

"Probably not as much as you…" I smiled somewhat nervously and he laughed at that comment, his entire demeanour seeming so much of a polar opposite from last night my own mood immediately sky rocketed to one of sublime happiness.

"I doubt that!" He grinned, staring excitedly up at the giants for trees which towered above us, their sturdy builds reaching upwards towards the heavens, and I could tell he was figuring out whether attempting to climb one would be worth it. The sky was a fresh, crisp light blue colour, and light rolls of mist were clouding the horizon slightly, making us seem slightly isolated from the circus we'd left behind, but I didn't particularly care that I was leaving the place in which my future husband and future captor lived, as well as escaping the rest of his blood drinking clan. I had no real issues with them; they just gave me the creeps to be totally honest. It was their entire identity which gave me the shivers, not them as beings; it wasn't anything to do with that. It was the whole drinking human's blood which put me on edge. Lorcan bought my out of my thoughts with a simplistic question. "Should I try climbing a tree Esther?"

"…No…" I said after a small pause. "I mean…Look at them they're so tall and kinda eerie looking, and you don't know how strong they are! I mean, they are pretty thin aren't they! And what if you fell and hurt yourself and then I couldn't get help and you died and I'd just end up hating myself for the rest of my entire existence!" The last part came out in a rushed, hurried, breathless torrent and I almost laughed at how much like a mother or grandmother I sounded after saying that to him. "So…I just wouldn't." Something about it amused him so greatly he began to laugh uncontrollably to the point where he had to bend over in hope to catch his breath, finally managing to stand up, with an incredibly amused smirk on his face. "I sounded like your mum, didn't I?"

"That was the most perfect impression of her ever, even though I know you didn't mean to make it so accurate!" He stood so he was facing me properly and stared at me for about a minute, so I assumed he wasn't going to do anything; that was until he placed his hands on my waist and lifted me upwards so I was hanging in the air, with only his arms holding me properly up.

"Put me down!" I shrieked, sounding twice more feminine that usual and I knew I must've sounded incredibly amusing because he chuckled again.

"Now why would I want to do that when your reaction is nothing short of adorable?" I pouted and he laughed again, his face broken into a pleasant smiling; he was clearly having fun getting on my nerves like this and I was forced to place my hands on his shoulders so I didn't put too much pressure on his arms. My feet were resting on the area just above his knees and I was staring down at him, for once feeling taller than him. His arms wrapped tighter around my waist so our chests were pressed against each other's and I smiled almost shyly, feeling just like I did that night when we did about three seconds of unconventional swimming. My hands wrapped around the back of his neck to provide further stability in our position, my forehead pressed against his uncoincidentally and just like that night, our mouths were a matter of centre metres' away from each other's, causing me to swallow tightly, feeling my cheeks begin to burn.

I'd never kissed anyone, even when Violet's friend's, the Turner Brother's, creepy friend offered to have sex with me, and I said no. He'd tried to kiss me on several occasions, but I'd always pulled away, and on some occasions even ran off in down the beach back to Violet and would practically attempt to hide behind her, despite being the taller one. Our foreheads gently pressed together, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting against my lips, and I swallowed sharply, my cheeks a flaming pink, the colour of a flamingo's feathers as our eyes met. That sick, swelling feeling of worry returned to my stomach, but I pushed it back down and didn't pull back, I just stared into his eyes, my heart beating furiously inside my chest. Then he leaned forwards, and my trembling lips met his own, our mouths pushing together to form one of the things I'd never had in life: a kiss.

He pushed his mouth closer against mine and a proper kiss formed as my eyes closed, my legs wrapping properly around his waist, his hands tangling back in the blonde folds of my hair which was tumbling down the back of my chocolate coloured hoody and our lips moved, perfectly meeting each other's. I pulled back briefly to catch my breath, eyes still closed, but shortly after a tight breath he pushed his mouth back against mine, pulling me into another kiss. I pulled back after just underneath a minute and smiled up at him, feeling my eyes shining like they do when you're about to cry and all he could do was smile back, his smile shining as brightly as his earrings were in the light streaming through the canopy. "That was amazing!" He grinned, pulling me closer to him, into a hug so my head was resting on his shoulder and my hair hung in front of his face. "_You _are amazing Esther." He looked down at me, smiling, and I felt myself smile back, my eyes shining.

"No…You were…" I whispered and he gently lowered me back to the ground as everything around me returned to that clear, shiny filter and everything seemed brighter and much more wonderful. I was in _love_. I couldn't place it at the exact moment, but looking on back, I knew that was when I fell hard for him; a matter of seconds after the first kiss we would ever have broke, I fell in love with him. And then I burst into an unstoppable fit of laughter and it was my turn to bend over, resting my hands on my knees, hair falling in front of my face, unable to stop the bout of laughter coming out, but I couldn't. When I was finally able to stand properly again, flipping my hair back out of my face and grinning uncontrollably up at him. "That was incredible!" I practically shrieked, slamming my hands down on his shoulder and jumped upwards, forcing him to pick me up again.

"Aye! It was!" He grinned down at me, pressing his forehead back against mine as we grinned like idiots, laughing softly. I'd never felt better. After we stopped giggling, he gently placed me down and grabbed hold of my left hand with his right, as we continued to stand facing each other. "So? What does this make us now then in your time's terms?" He asked.

"I guess this makes us boyfriend and girlfriend…" I shrugged, unsure of what to call this, but that sounded like the best term I could use for the circumstances and situations we'd now gotten ourselves into by kissing. Those were the best terms I could use for the direction our relationship had suddenly hurtled in, although I wasn't complaining about it, because I was happy like this, and Lorcan was. "That's what people in a relationship, but who aren't betrothed or married are called nowadays."

"So I'm your boyfriend?" He laughed and grinned excitedly.

"Yes…"

"And you're my girlfriend?" He cut me off just as I finished my sentence, so I simply nodded as a response, and my suspicion was confirmed when he regained talking quickly, grinning like he was incredibly pleased with himself and the title he'd just achieved. "That is the best thing anyone has ever given me. Thank you Esther, you've just made me happier than I have been in a thousand years." He placed his hands on either one of my shoulders and I stared up at him. "No girl in my village was ever as pretty or interesting as you are, so I'm only glad I had the chance to be bought back and have the Gods give me the chance to finally meet you." I smiled up at him and he smiled back, and it felt like the best feeling in the world, even more than when we'd kissed. "Want to carry on now?" He asked and I knew my answer.

"Yeah, I mean, what's the point coming out here if we can't explore?" I smiled at him and we began walking again, although my mind was nowhere near the subject of the forest now. I was officially in a relationship. An actually, serious, proper relationship with someone I knew cared about me just as much as I cared for him. I was on my very own personal euphoric high, in a blissful state that I could only thank Lorcan for, because he was the one who put me there. In such a wonderful state of permanent, perfect happiness. The birds flew through the trees, diving through the canopy's and tweeting gently as they did so, some even flew in front of us in a frenzied mess which made my eyebrows raise and I cocked my head to the side, wondering why so many of them had taken flight because they'd barely been swooping through the air until then, however I simply smiled and watched them dart throughout the trees, souring gracefully and expertly, as if they'd rehearsed this for their entire lives.

Then…Then everything went back to normal; everything to harsh and gritty and fucked up in one foul, swift movement when a sixteen year old boy fell out of a tree and rolled till he was almost at my feet.

His tanned skin was covered in welts, bruises and bloody marks, some still gently oozing trickles of crimson coloured blood, especially the ones on his arms. His once crisp white school shirt was tattered and ruined, with large gouges and gashes in the back area, revealing more cuts oozing blood down the skin. Some were old, like Lorcan's, not as flamingo pink but a fading cream and less fresh, but most were still slightly red and looked as if the slightest pressure would spurt more blood out. Blood was matted in the edges of his dirty blonde hair which was so dark it almost reached light brown but fell a few shades short of that; when he looked up at us he had a thin face, with beady dark eyes that were almost black and his nose was long and straight. He haled himself to his feet, coughing and a fresh bruise had formed on his left temple from his fall or jump out of the tree.

"You've got to help me!" He gasped, as if he'd been running for miles and I figured this scenario was likely by the state of him. "You don't know what's gonna happen if she finds me! She's gonna fucking killme!" The last two words came out jumbled together, but I knew exactly what he'd said and my eyes went wide. I looked up at Lorcan, whose face was a mixture of suspicion and horror. "She'll kill us all!" The boy, who still hadn't revealed his name gasped, now shaking violently and he took a step forwards. "Her and that…That fucking thing!" He was hysterical and I reached out, intent on gently putting my hands on his shoulders but something stopped me. A short, sharp, snapping sound which caused me to turn around and I heard the boy gasp.

A gun, a Browning Hi-Power, was being pointed not at me but just to my right, at the boy behind me. The person wielding the gun was female and her appearance shocked me more than anything because of how…Ordinary she looked. She wasn't big or buff like Arnold Schwarzenegger or dark and devious like San Valentino; she wasn't even that old looking, only sixteen, just like the boy.

Large eyes and filled out lips made up a large percentage of the girl's rounded face, with a small snub nose; some people could say they looked a little too large, her eyes almost fishy and lips practically fat, but after having a proper look, you could tell it suited her perfectly. Her mouth was coated with a thick layer of gloss, emphasizing her kissable lips to their full potential; whilst her eyes were sprinkled with gold eye-shadow on the lids and a thin line of eyeliner ran along the edges of the eyelid. Her eyes were a sparkling blue, the colour of spring morning skies, and her face was outlined with a sheet of thick, hazy light brown hair which fell around her hips. Her height was about 5'5" and her figure was voluptuous; all curves, thighs and bosom, coated in a pair of pure black jeans, a matching jacket and boots, with a deep tie-dye grey t-shirt underneath. A series of what seemed to be dog tags, as well as heart-shaped pendants, clanked over her chest as she stood with her left hand on her hip, waiting expectantly.

She looked too much like a little, petite Barbie doll to be a ruthless hit woman but looks can be deceptive and I immediately knew she was dangerous. I felt Lorcan bristle at the introduction of a gun, something he had no idea of, but he was intelligent enough not to run at her. "Okay," she said her voice a little deeper than I'd expected and each word flowed lazily, as if effort wasn't important to her, whilst her accent was vaguely Yorkshire. I heard something rustle in the trees and my eyes travelled behind her, where a large, shagging hulking shadow crouched in the darkness and I knew I wasn't going to like what I saw so I averted my eyes back to the girl. "Just hand him over," I knew she was referring to the bloodied and bruised boy behind me from his own speech a matter of seconds, maybe minutes, before, "And no-one is going to become werewolf chow." _Werewolf!?_ My heart almost stopped.

A/N: Dun, dun, dunnn! Yes, cliff-hanger! Our heroes have been cornered by a teenage hit-girl, her pet werewolf and have to decide something: Should they save this mysterious boy, or does he deserve to die? What is truly going on now? Are this girl and the werewolf working for Serse Ripper, or are they totally different entirely? Find out soon…


End file.
